True Altruists
by LukkiLewin
Summary: Despite being under the radar, the XCOM Project is one of the most popular subjects in modern debate. We know nearly everything of this supposedly clandestine society, and we love it. But what of XCOM's equally shadowy counterpart, EXALT? See the conflict through the eyes of this rogue organization, and you will find there's more to EXALT than fancy scarves and red hologlobes.
1. Unexpected Recruitment

"This is Austin Brown, sir. Served three tours in Afghanistan, retired at age 40 as a Captain in the Marines. Official psychiatry report determines him 'mentally fit for civilian life with little to no supervision'. Skilled military tactician too."

"That's all well and good, Bones. But does he have… incentive?"

"We checked the hospital records, sir. He will be compliant."

"Hm… He checks out. Put him in our recruitment list."

"…"

"Is there a problem, Bones?"

"We've detected an... anomaly headed towards Waco, sir."

"Simple enough. Go get him, I suppose."

"Yes sir."

"And Bones?"

"Hm?"

"Please bring him back alive, this time."

* * *

At around 11 PM, the UFO crashed in the middle of Waco, Texas. Its path pulverized the concrete streets, crushing several sedans and cars. A few minutes later, the purple disc came to rest in front of the local bar. Austin Brown emerged from there, along with several others, as they stared in wonder at the impossible.

"Jesus Christ," murmured Bill Waters, the bartender. "A bo-na-fide U-F-O, right in my own backyard." He wiped his hands on his apron, and turned to Austin. "Is there anything still alive in all that?"

"Doubt it," muttered Austin, although his mind flipped back to the charred bodies and broken buildings left behind in Russia and Australia. He wasn't going to chance with something that had no place on the Earth.

The rest of the crowd shared his sentiment. When one works the night shift, they gain a laid back, no-nonsense attitude that rewards foresight over action. A few of the more adventurous (and unemployed) souls dared to edge closer to the craft. From what Austin could see, the whole thing was mostly intact, although a huge chunk of one of its "doorways" was lying five meters away from it. Fuel, or some equivalent, spilled from the ship in large, flaming arcs, while patches of concrete were set alight.

Minutes passed, and not a single thing stirred within the giant ship. Some of the more drunk and bored persons among the crowd went home, but the rest, like Austin, remained enthralled. Those few that had approached the craft seemed to savor the opportunity of grabbing a few souvenirs from the seemingly deserted wreck, and began to edge closer with renewed bravery.

One of these was Mort Simmons, a drifter working at the nearby warehouse. His ratty jacket and jet-black hair was always a sign of trouble, and nowhere did trouble appear more obviously than now. But now, Mort had hit the big time. Already, he did a thriving drug business, but he had never gotten his hands on alien tech. Some of his fences had bragged about making millions on gutted flight consoles, and alloys – for Mort, this meant that whatever he grabbed now could buy him a nice, early retirement.

He started to walk faster, trying to outpace the other prospective scavengers who were following him towards the UFO. _It's gotta be empty_ Mort thought to himself. _You don't just take a nap after crashing at a thousand miles an hour._

"Unless it's a dirt nap," Mort chuckled. Besides, if he came across a "Grey", as the news media put it, he'd probably put it down with his handy switchblade. The things looked half-starved and were the size of children, basically no big threat to anyone with a brain.

"The fuck?" Mort said. He could have sworn that something moved out of the corner of his eye. He looked around, but all he saw was the scarred purple hull and the orange embers of the fire. Yet as he stared, a conglomeration of orange dots and purple seemed to be _wobbling_ in front of him, as if it was alive. But that wasn't possible, was it? Scenery just doesn't _move_ like that, right? As if in answer, the purple and orange background surged towards Mort.

"Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckfuckfu – " Mort started to chant, a litany of curses that was soon cut short as the purple shadow charged at him. It ripped through the muscular flesh of his neck, and sent five elongated claws into his stomach, spilling his insides. Those watching stared in dumb amazement as they saw a man being disemboweled by what appeared to be a giant insect, before fleeing as other orange and purple blobs ran out into the twilight night.

Several people were caught in the devastating "outflow" of the UFO's inhabitants, the chitin-plated insects leaping onto the backs of the runners and tearing into their flesh. At this point, the crowd had dispersed, everyone running for dear life as hell began to erupt around them.

"Cut and run, Brown!" Bill hissed, grabbing Austin's arm. The Texan shook himself back into reality, the horrifying image of the aliens burned into his mind. Then, another horrible thought: _the hospital_. Those things were free in Waco, and they seemed to delight in the taste of human flesh. He had to get to the hospital.

"Bill!" Austin caught up to the lithe bartender. He breathed hard between each of his words as the flames of the ship receded into the distance. "We need to get to my car!"

"Good idea," Bill said. "We oughta put fifteen miles between us and Waco. You packin' iron tonight?"

"Always," Austin huffed. "But the hospital, Bill! Samantha!"

As soon as the two had gotten a fair distance from the wreck, Bill turned to Austin. "Are you insane? Do you see how fast those things are? Chances are the hospital's overrun with the fuckers by now."

Austin grabbed the bartender by his shirt collar. "We are going back, NOW," Austin growled. "If you're not coming, then you're not getting in my car."

Bill chewed on that for a moment. Then he muttered, "Alright, let's go."

The two continued to run before they made it to Austin's pickup. As Bill opened the passenger seat and clambered in, Austin reached into the pickup's rear and retrieved his hunting rifle. As he checked the firing mechanisms, he noticed that Bill had already found the revolver he kept in his glove compartment. Bill looked back and winked.

A minute later, the two of them were driving down the street, headed for St. Mary's Hospital. While Austin was usually a textbook driver, he ran several red lights and swerved across the lanes. After nearly running across the concrete sidewalk, he slapped his head and set his eyes on the road. Despite this, his mind wandered away from the view, his thoughts swarming around his mind like a school of fish, each single one repeating "Go, go, **GO** ," in an endless cacophony.

Thankfully, and perhaps frighteningly, the streets of Waco were completely deserted. Not of cars, but of people. As the two Texans drove on, they noticed that every car they passed was missing its occupants. Even a sobriety check stop, surrounded by police vehicles and blinking yellow barriers, lacked the familiar sight of officers.

After they passed that scene, Bill turned to his longtime friend and said, "Maybe we ought to turn back, Austin. What if they evacuated the hospital?" Despite the pleading in his voice, it failed to penetrate the school of fish in Austin's mind.

"Hell, maybe one of those f – "  
"Bill, kindly shut the hell up," Austin replied in a tone that surprised himself. He and Bill had relied on each other's advice in life, all the way back to the sands of the Middle East. From Austin's brief stint with heroine, to Bill's continual battle with alcoholism, the two men had always sustained one another in words and support.

 _Until now_ , thought Austin. Hopefully he wouldn't have to strain his bonds with Bill anymore than he had to.

But as they edged into the hospital parking lot, Austin knew that it would be hard, if not impossible, to get Bill to agree. The fires within several of the abandoned vehicles had already scorched their metal frames to a crisp, while much of the pavement was torn apart into glowing green chunks. Even more ominous, an orderly dressed in a green uniform lay in front of the charred ruins of the entrance. Austin stared closer, and realized that the green color came from the glowing burns on the man's body.

Thoughts flickered through Austin's mind, military facts about biological and radioactive threats bursting from his temples. Whatever had been here was wielding weaponry of extreme lethality and unknown origin.

"Fuck me, they've got guns too?" Bill whispered, breaking the silence in the pickup's cabin. Austin lifted up his own hunting rifle in response.

"Whatever came this way went in the hospital. All the more reason to go in, eh?"

"The hell are you so casual for?! You think this," Bill shouted, waving the revolver in his hand. "This piece of metal here can kill whatever the fuck those things were? Space spiders, I can believe. Space spiders with guns are another fucking thing."

"Fine," Austin replied. "You can stay here while I go in."

Bill paled even more. While the thought of the aliens frightened him, the thought of facing them _alone_ scared him even more.

"Hell no," Bill said. Then, as if to recover his confidence: "If we're going to die, I want to be within arms reach to slap the hell out of you."

Austin cracked a hollow smile. "Deal. Let's go."

* * *

Like most hospitals, St. Mary's had a somber atmosphere, wrought from the beeping of life support machines and the constant movement of orderlies and doctors. The lack of activity accentuated the hospital's already negative mood. Equipment was strewn across the floor, and the all too familiar green glow was spattered along the walls. Austin checked the hospital directory, which was intact amid the melted ruins of the wall.

"Floor 4," he said, savoring each word. "Elevators?" he asked Bill. Bill simply shrugged, and pointed at the elevator doors, which were open and revealed the cold, black inside of the elevator chute.

"Stairs then." The two went up. Each step they took was a lonely metal clatter, causing Austin to wince. At this point, anyone (or thing) still alive knew about their presence. Several flights of stairs later, the two managed to reach Floor 4.

Austin made to walk into the hallway, before Bill reached out and dragged him back into the stairwell. Austin gave Bill a look of frustration, but his gaze faltered as he saw Bill point with emphasis outside. To underline his action, a loud roar came from the other end. Austin listened, but there was something odd about it. The roar had a tinny undertone, as if it were coming from a miniature jet engine. He listened further, until the roar dissipated. Satisfied, he moved back into the hallway, making sure to see that Bill was backing him up.

As his head was turned towards Bill, Austin didn't notice the IV pouches lying on the floor. As his foot landed on one of the bags, the pressure caused it to explode, letting loose both a torrent of donated blood and a loud pop. As if on cue, the roaring returned, screeching closer and closer to Austin and Bill's location.

Austin froze, his arms and legs tensed as he waited to fight against whatever abomination was speeding its way toward him. Luckily, this confrontation was avoided when Bill grabbed Austin and dragged him into one of the adjoining rooms, where they waited in in silence. While Austin caught his breath, he looked up and saw Bill squatting next to the doorway, his forehead slick with sweat. He held the revolver in both of his hands, but failed to steady either one. Meanwhile, the roaring continued, moving closer and closer until it stopped just short of the doorway.

Austin watched the hallway become illuminated with a green glow, followed by a hulking shadow. For Austin, it was impossible – the shadow had an upper body, arms and all, but lacked any legs. In his adrenaline-addled brain, Austin thought it looked like his CO, who had his legs blown off during his second tour of duty.

The shadow moved back and forth with an odd, twitching motion, while its long, lanky hands gripped what appeared to be an oversized gun in its hands. The silence was maddening, and Austin felt tempted to yell "Hey, you", just to fill in the void.

Before long, the shadow began to shudder, issuing hoarse, bristling coughs. Then, an arm reached up to its chest, and pulled at something. A sound like fluid draining issued from the hallway, and the creature left down the stairwell, its machine roar fading into the distance.

When it seemed that the oddity was out of earshot, Bill leapt to his feet and whispered, "Now what in hot hell was _that_?!" He looked into the corridor.

Austin got to his feet, watching Bill kneel onto the tiled floor and press two fingers against it. Bill then lifted his hand towards his face.

"Jesus!" Bill cursed. "Smells like cat piss."

"What do you think it is?," Austin asked.

"Don't know, don't fuckin' care. What I do know is that we need to grab your kid, and get the hell out of here."

"Agreed."

Bill smiled. "Glad to hear that from you, finally," he said. As the two of them proceeded down the hallway, he added "When we get out of here, let's get a drink. Been a long time – and Samantha's old enough, right?"

Austin grinned, and felt warmth grow in his chest. Bill was beginning to act like himself – or at least the version of himself that existed before the UFO.

"I mean," Bill continued. "She's only got a heart condition. I'll give her a shot of whiskey, that's all."

"Bill," Austin replied. "Let's save it for when we actually get my daughter."

Bill waved at him. "Leave it to Cpt. Austin to end the banter and get to business."

As they approached Samantha's room, the warmth in Austin's chest faded. He couldn't see into her room, causing his mind to go on a million wild tangents regarding what they would find. Would she be gone, spirited away like every other occupant of the hospital? Would they find a burnt corpse, or worse, one of those, _things_ , feeding off of it?

These fears were dispelled as Austin looked in the room, only to find his daughter crouching behind her hospital bed.

"Samantha?" Austin called out.

"D-dad?! Is that you?" cried Samantha. Her head rose above the side of the bed. Austin smiled. Even at 19, even in times like this, Samantha was keeping the straight face she had done as a toddler. Her "brave face", she called it.

"Baby girl! Come on, Bill and I are here – we've gotta go, quickly!" Austin urged. Samantha began to get up, but she stopped. Her brave face faltered.

"Dad, is t-that," she started. After swallowing, she continued: "That _thing_ still there?"

Austin ran up and embraced her, his tactical sense replaced by fatherly instincts. "No, no. It's gone now, baby girl, it's gone."

Bill walked in, looking left and right.

"Hate to break up the reunion," he said. "But we oughta get going before the, uh, thing gets back."

Austin and Samantha looked up. "You're right," Austin said. He motioned at his daughter to follow them.

In Austin's mind, he was safe. He had found his daughter, and that monster, the steel, legless dragon, was gone – nowhere to be seen, given the sound it made. The aliens were gone, and freedom and safety lay around the corner. His paternal instinct crowded out his military mind, which kept insisting that he check the hallway, that he listen, _listen_ , for the stealthy, low humming outside the door.

Unfortunately, Austin did not follow on his tactical sense. The group walked out of the room, only to come face to face with the beast.

Happiness curdled into fear as Austin gazed at death's messenger. The thing was uglier than its shadow declared – the flesh that was visible was pink and raw, with purple veins streaking across its skin. The rest of it was a patchwork of metal and wires, electronics stuck in areas that didn't make sense. Two large engines were slapped onto its back, like a child who was trying to imitate a butterfly using scrap metal.

The machine monster howled, a disgusting, phlegm choked sound, and raised its weapon. Austin saw a large, silver barrel and glimpsed a green "mist", for lack of a better word, swirling within. It was like the lazy hand of death, asking Austin to come closer so it could embrace him.

Before the creature could fulfill its grim duty, Bill stepped in. He raised his revolver with a snap of his wrist, and loosed six shots at the alien. At close range, all six hit home. Five bounced off of the metal carapace of the alien, but one struck the center of its face. Yellow pus spattered against the walls of the hospital, while purple brain matter seeped out the gaping hole in the back of its head. Austin watched as the alien, deprived of its nervous system, began to flail about, the body reacting in panic to its inevitable death. It flew about, smashing into walls and letting loose sparks before flying over the heads of the group and crashing to the floor – a miniature version of the UFO that had brought death and destruction to Waco.

Austin and Bill looked at each other in disbelief, while Samantha stared at the wreckage behind them.

"Well, it seems like they can – " Bill started, only to be cut off by several other mechanical roars. Apparently that floating beast had friends.

Bill, always the quick thinker, pointed down the hall. "Go, you get Samantha out of here!" He waved his gun towards the other end of the hall, where the roars were getting closer. "I'll take care of these fuckers. If I'm not here in ten minutes, go. Get the hell out of Waco."

Austin nodded, realizing that there was no other option. He handed Bill his hunting rifle, and shook his hand. Not wanting to prolong the tortured moment, he turned back and began to escort Samantha.

Before he got far, Bill called to him.

"Brother?" he said. Austin looked at him. "I'm going to slap the hell out of you when I get back."

Austin cracked another grin, but this one was hollow. Then, he turned and ran.

* * *

As the sound of gunshots echoed from the hospital, Austin and Samantha sprinted towards the pickup. Both of them were crying, both for different reasons. Samantha out of fear, and Austin out of sadness. The pickup lay, silent, before them, an eerie witness to the bizarre and brutal events occurring in front of it.

 _Just get to the door_ , Austin thought. The scene played in his head a million times, where he would load himself and Samantha into the car. Bill would walk out, and they'd drive off, fine and dandy. But before either of them could reach the pickup a loud screech called out from behind it, followed by several others. Like cockroaches from the woodwork, the purple and orange blobs from earlier appeared. From such a close view, Austin could now see the spindly legs of these spider creatures, the drool that spilled and clung to their mandibles before falling to the asphalt. As one, the creatures screeched and charged at the two.

For Austin, it turned into a dream. The creatures moved in slow motion, to the point where Austin could see the muscles bulging underneath their chitin armor. The clatter of their legs sounded like the slow, repetitive fire of a machine gun in his head. He listened to it, a perverse, soothing melody sent to calm him before his last moments. He mentally embraced death.

But death did not come. The machine gun chatter came, but Austin did not feel the terrifying claws of the creatures on him. He looked around, and saw the purple spiderlike beings crashing to the ground. The staccato of gunfire was real now, the sound of ballistics weaponry spitting iron into the bodies of the aliens.

Two creatures neared his daughter from behind, but were cut down in short order by the low chugging of a SAW. A lone bullet flew from a nearby building to smash into the mouth of another creature. Before long, the aliens were dead, crushed by the strategic fire.

Two men emerged from the shadows. They carried a military air about themselves, but wore unusual clothing. They certainly weren't US soldiers. However, from their walk to the way they unloaded spent rifle casings, these men were clearly professionals.

"Mr. Brown," one of them said. "You and your daughter are to come with us."

"W-what?"

"Quickly, Mr. Brown. We're here to escort you and other civilians to safety."

The man then pulled out a portable radio and spoke into it. "Compound, this is Bones. We found him. Send the craft over here."

Austin fainted, his body spent from the adrenaline and the unbelievable string of events. However, he could hear the whine of an aircraft as his eyes closed.

* * *

 **XCOM AFTER ACTION REPORT IN: WACO, TEXAS**

 **OPERATION CRYSTAL SERPENT**

Personnel on sight:

14 Civilians (9 KIA, one critically wounded)

2 Police Officers (2 KIA)

XCOM Personnel Onsite:

Pvt. Richard Menendez (wounded)

Pvt. Alfred Brunswick (KIA)

Sgt. Julia "Fury" Sanchez

Maj. Salvador "Action" Guzman

Lt. Joseph "Jojo" Smith (critically wounded)

Pvt. Daniel Chen (gravely wounded)

Artifacts Recovered:  
8 Weapon Fragments

9 Floater Corpses

12 Chryssalid Corpses

40 Alien Alloys

1 Damaged Flight Computer

1 Damaged UFO Power Source

19 Elerium

Equipment Expended:  
1 Set of Carapace Armor

5 HE Grenades

2 Antipersonnel Grenades

1 Battle Scanner

Special Note #1: One civilian, ID'd as Bill Jack Waters, a local bartender in Waco, Texas. Waters was noted as the one critically wounded civilian; but it is not his wounds that are of note, but how he received them. Waters was found in St. Mary's Hospital, critically injured and surrounded by 3 dead "Floaters" (military designation). He apparently expended most of the rounds in his Taurus revolver, which was found to be the weapon that killed all 3 of his assailants. Officially, Waters does have a military background – but this event is unprecedented due to the fact that he downed three extraterrestrials wielding advanced weaponry. Due to the recent losses in XCOM the past months, I personally recommend offering Mr. Waters a place here at XCOM.

Special Note #2: Two civilians were seen escorted away from the Terror Site. However, the men escorting them were not one of our own, despite the fact that some of them were wearing standard issue XCOM armor (check with Engineering for more info). From our imaging of their weapons, and the craft that the two civilians were escorted in, we can only assume that these individuals are part of the unknown rogue organization encountered in Operation Portent.


	2. Uneasy Dealings

Austin crashed while in the helicopter, his body becoming more and more used to the constant, harsh sound of the helicopter's blades. As he slept, his dreams were a mix of nightmare and relief, the faces of Bill and Samantha intermingled with the screams of Waco's citizens and the flying, metal monstrosity from the hospital.

Despite the disturbing content, Austin remained in his dreams. So engrossed his mind was, he did not notice the subtle change when the helicopter touched down on solid ground. It took the insistent tapping of a finger to wake him up.

With a groan, Austin rose. Remembering to unstrap himself from the helicopter's seat, he stood, his reenergized mind buzzing. He had a perfect memory of the events early on in the night, from the UFO to this mysterious… well, abduction. Austin looked around, trying to study his "saviors", trying to ascertain their intentions.

Some of the men around him, including the one called Bones, wore a bulky, wraparound armor, complete with shoulder and kneepads. A patch of some kind was stitched onto the armor's shoulder, while another patch depicting the flag of a country was grafted onto the back of the armor. Bones, the man closest to him, was apparently from Nigeria. Yet, as Austin regarded the man's doughy Caucasian features, he doubted that Bones was Nigerian. Or that the armor was his.

The rest of the men were an odd bunch. They had business clothes, varying from black and red vests to white business shirts. A few features remained consistent, though – the scarves. About half of them wore striped red and orange scarves that covered most of their face and the rest of their neck. To Austin, the cloth reminded him of the stereotypical Western bandit, the barbaric lot that wore flashy bandanas as a disguise and a trademark. The similarities did not sit well with him.

One of these men, a muscular brute in a white dress shirt and orange tie, was crouching over Austin, his gloved hand resting on Austin's shoulder.

"Get up," the man murmured, his voice muffled by the scarf. "We're here." He turned and walked towards the helicopter's open bay doors. Austin followed, and chose not to ask any questions. Wherever they were going, it would be best to find someone who would answer them _without_ shooting him.

That first question, where they were going, was answered almost immediately. As Austin stepped out into the cold, early morning light, he stopped in front of a glowing, blue neon sign. "Armitech Co." it read, the blue letters floating from a holographic display. Behind them lay a large, clean, white office building, situated on a large, green patio. Various abstract sculptures littered the lawn.

Already, most of the helicopter's crew was walking through the glass double doors to the building. Bones and White Shirt stood aside, waiting for Austin. He nodded to them, and began to disembark from the helicopter. Suddenly, a flurry of commotion erupted from behind him. Austin whirled back, and saw the pilot and another man escorting Samantha away from the building.

"You let her go, you son of a –" Austin began. Before he could finish, Bones laid a hand on his arm. It was quite an awkward sight, as Bones was a small five footer compared to Austin's large, six foot frame.

"Stop," Bones said, his voice emotionless. Despite the man's unimposing appearance, he still gave Austin the creeps. Even worse, Bones turned to stare directly into Austin's eyes, his bright blue irises gazing into Austin's hazel ones.

"Your daughter is being taken to a more… secure location," Bones said. His speech was halting, as if he were unfamiliar with the English language. "We will… shelter her, but her talents are not needed in our… work environment."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?," Austin growled. He was angry, but more at himself for being cowed into near submission by this tiny man.

Bones smiled, his pearly whites turning upwards into a shark's grin. "You are a… smart man, Mr. Brown. I know you will be willing to cooperate, otherwise my… associate, Mr. Hawk, will have to… persuade you." Bones motioned to White Shirt, who cracked his knuckles to convey Bone's message in a more obvious fashion. Austin couldn't be sure, but he thought the other man was also smiling beneath his colorful scarf.

"Fine, fine. I'll go," Austin said, with a hint of stubbornness. _Despite all this cloak and dagger bull, I'm important_ , he thought. If they insisted on keeping him in the dark, he could leverage his perceived status to his advantage.

Bones nodded, satisfied with Austin's answer. "Come," he said. "We will have much to discuss."

* * *

At first, Austin believed that he had been abducted in order to take part in some gang-related activity. After all, Armitech was the top global weapons manufacturer, which meant that each of its facilities was guarded by the best security, electronic and human. But like all of his assumptions, this one was proved dead wrong. Upon entering the building, the two security guards, men in blue fatigues and black Kevlar vests, looked up from their post at a desk, and looked back down, as if the masked men were regulars here.

Austin was then hustled into a large elevator. He stood in the center, flanked by Hawk and another man, while Bones walked over to the elevator's digital interface. With flourish, the small man took his glove off and pressed his thumb to the blue pad, which gave a prompt ding and converted into an array of virtual buttons. Bones pressed the topmost of these, and turned to face the elevator doors.

A few minutes later, the four of them walked down a hallway into a large executive office. Austin was taken aback. The office was large, with large windows curving around the perimeter. Large paintings of various historical figures hung on the walls, while blue banners and shining accolades from the Armitech Corporation hung in an organized manner. Surprisingly in the midst of these, a single banner in red and gold stood out. Embroidered on it was an Eye, surrounded by a hexagon. Underneath this was a large oak desk, with two individuals standing behind it.

One of these was a large, muscular man with rolled up sleeves and a full-body Kevlar vest. His face, or what could be seen from the scarf, was granite, cold and unyielding. It was a face that made Bones look like giddy child in comparison.

The other person was a woman, dressed in a business suit. While her hair was scraggly, and her eyes had dark spots, her face radiated a proud beauty, from the curves of her cheeks to the stick thin eyebrows.

Bones walked up to the desk, and saluted the two. "Alpha, General, this is Mr. Brown. Operation Saving Grace was a… success, with no casualties. We had little to no… exposure, to XCOM units in the area," said Bones. Austin listened with every bit of focus he could muster. As far as he could tell, he was the person of interest to a secret paramilitary organization – one that played a large part in Earth's invasion.

The large man behind the desk grumbled. "Bones," he said, his voice as gruff as his appearance. "I commend your team for acting quickly and securing the 'objective'." He looked at Austin. "However, as your team was having, well, all the fun with the invading party, our contact informed us that XCOM had caught footage of your group through the CCTV network." After saying that, the man slammed a gloved hand onto the wooden desk, causing the unflappable Bones to flinch.

The woman took her turn to speak. "As you know, Mr. Bones," she said in a heavy Russian accent. "EXALT operates with the utmost secrecy, in order to keep our tactics and strategies from… prying eyes. Your carelessness in this operation has jeopardized our Doppelganger Initiative – XCOM will no doubt be tightening up on their stores." Her words were like ice, thudding onto the floor. Bones had wilted, his previous poker face reduced to a quivering lip and a twitching eyelid.

"We do not forget your contributions to our organization, Mr. Bones," the women continued. "Nor your status outside it. However, we expect much more from our operatives. I suggest you keep that in mind, 'lest we are forced to… fire you."

Bones nodded, visibly shaken. He turned, and motioned for Hawk and the other man to leave the room. He then followed his compatriots, but not before giving Austin a sharp glare. Austin ignored him, trying to figure out the confusing exchange. While this was obviously a debriefing of some sort, the names didn't sound like any military unit he knew of. EXALT and XCOM – the two words swirled in his head. He believed that they stood for… something. A few thoughts came up for XCOM, but nothing seemed to fit EXALT. After a moment, Austin thought, _to hell with it_ , and came back to reality.

When Bones had left, the two people in the room turned to Austin. As the woman laid her eyes on him, her cold face burst into a jovial smile. Her associate offered no change in mood.

Austin decided to get to the point. "So," he said. "Let's put the cards on the table. You want me for some reason, but I don't know what the hell that is. Let's start with that."

The man glanced at the woman, and nodded. She turned to face Austin, and began to speak. "Austin Brown, you are aware of the state of humankind as of this moment, yes?" Austin nodded. "Well," she continued. "To start off, I am Alpha, CEO of Armitech."

"And I am General," said the man. "We are part of an organization dedicated to assuring mankind's safety during this time."

"EXALT," Austin murmured. The man gave him what could have been a look of approval, while Alpha went on.

"You may have seen the news reports, asserting the almost unanimous notion that the alien invasion is a massive tragedy. That is true, but it is also the layman's way of perceiving it. It takes a person of business and cunning to discover opportunity even in such dire times."

"So what," Austin said, his voice rising. "You want to make a little money off this 'tragedy'? And you want me to get in on this sick war profiteering?"

Alpha raised her manicured hands. "Mr. Brown, we are not of unrefined taste. We are people of… class, as well as business. We believe that the human race, given the opportunity, can rise to unlimited heights, physically, emotionally, and genetically. The alien invasion has simply given us that opportunity."

Alpha paused, and brought out a small disc from under the desk. She pressed a button with swift grace, which caused the disc to hum and emit blue lights. After a bit, an image of the Armitech logo appeared.

 _Expensive tech_ , Austin thought. It reinforced the opinion that he should tread lightly. These people were not to be messed with.

Alpha pressed another button, causing the logo to morph into a holographic image taken from a CNN news broadcast. "Magnify," she said. The hologram projector obeyed, expanding the image until it was approximately the size of a plasma screen TV. At this size, several objects were clearly visible. Much of it was the bells and whistles, the logos and weather reports a news channel puts on as usual, but the main focus of the broadcast stood out in stark contrast to the rest. On the far right, a green bolt of energy was suspended. Austin could see its contrails, the coils of energy frozen in place. But what really caught his attention was the alien. Standing on two legs, and staring into the camera with wide, almond shaped eyes, was a Grey. Austin could see, thanks to the high definition, the alien's distended belly, its stick thin arms, and the yellow glow that emanated from its chest.

Alpha also seemed to be interested in the Grey. She pushed a painted nail into the image, causing a ripple like distortion on the Grey's forehead.

"People look at this… thing, and they see a monster. An abomination. We see the future. Do _you_ see this, Mr. Brown? Do you realize that this is no natural creature – this is the product of decades, maybe centuries of genetic tampering?" Alpha began to gesture, her hands cupping the image of the Grey. "Its weapon alone is of immense value, a machine capable of firing plasma, in turn giving it endless destructive capability. And that is only one thing out of many that we have managed to learn."

"Really," Austin remarked. He gave his hosts a smug smile and crossed his arms. "And where did you find this, _fascinating_ , information?"

Alpha smiled back, the triumphant grin of a poker player with a winning hand. With a glint in her eye, she said:

"Why, from the creature itself, Mr. Brown."

With that, she pressed another button. The news report evaporated, replaced by what appeared to be an autopsy report of a Grey.

"This creature, and the others accompanying it, is a treasure trove of knowledge. For the first time, we have the key to genetics, to cybernetics! Did you know that this creature's mind is so highly developed that it can process information ten times faster than Einstein? Or that its enhancements allow its frail frame to withstand blows that would cripple a heavyweight champion?"

Alpha was obviously excited, her tone betraying her calm demeanor. Her associate nodded in assent throughout her speech.

Austin held up a hand. "Well… Miss. This sounds great and all, but I'm not a scientist. Why in the world am I here?"  
The General took up his part. "We have encountered others who do not share our… enthusiasm. Unlike us, they are a global, government sanctioned organization that goes by the name – "

"XCOM."

"Sharp as a tack, Brown. XCOM, like us, has been in service, and under cover, for decades. Also unlike our goals, XCOM only exists to combat the invasion– hence their name, eXtraterrestrial COMbat unit.

"While EXALT and XCOM share the same goals, our methods differ. XCOM meets the alien's on an aggressive playing field, destroying the invaders and reverse engineering what technology is left."

"Seems like a noble goal."

"But it is a _mistake_ , Brown. We want to learn from, and need be, collaborate with – "

Austin jumped. "C-collaborate?! With those fucking things?" He pointed a finger at the two. "You… You want me to be a traitor to my own, to sell my soul to the fucking Devil?"

"Let's not be melodramatic, Mr. Brown," said Alpha. "As said, we are people of business. We know when to cooperate, and when to… resist. Earth under slavery is hardly the future we envision."

"Hell no," General followed up. "See, what the aliens are throwing at us is small fry to them. Whatever else they have will usher a revolution, a new age in humanity. We see ahead, while XCOM only wants to fix the immediate situation. Because of this… disagreement, we are forced to interfere with XCOM operations.

"Much of our activity is run through nonviolent, disobedient actions. A system malfunction here, a loss of bank funds here… But XCOM does not appreciate such actions. In direct defiance to the established order, XCOM has begun its own second war – against EXALT. Already, we are on the back foot. Our operatives are untrained in combat, and XCOM has utilized the same brutal tactics it has reserved for the invaders."

Austin chewed on this. He didn't have much to go on, given his recent induction into this secret war. He did think that what he was being given was a false, or at least edited. EXALT did appear to have well armed and well trained operatives, and their willingness to cooperate with the invaders for the "good of humanity" dirtied the already shady picture in Austin's mind.

"We are in need of tactical officers, field commanders who have the right set of talents to oversee our military operations," General continued. "This is where you come in."

Austin chuckled. "Based on what I've heard so far, I might as well be asking 'XCOM' for a job application."

The man stopped cold, his hard eyes staring at Austin.

"Now, I know y'all are bullshitting me, and even if I were a gullible sucker, I think I'd still have the brains to know which side I'd choose."

"Don't be hasty, Brown," General breathed, each word a silent whisper from his scarf. "Tell him."

Alpha sighed. "Mr. Brown, while XCOM may have mankind's _current_ interests in mind, it is not an organization to be trusted. For one thing, XCOM staffs one of the largest and brightest science teams in the world. Already, they have made advances in gene modification and technology, advances that we at EXALT only dream of having.

"But," she said, pausing. "They clearly do not wish to share this with the rest of the world.

"Now, I know you may think I am lying to you, Mr. Brown. But a CEO of Armitech always keeps her word. Due to my position, XCOM has been in contact with me many, many times. One of these was a deal."

The hologram buzzed, showing off the image of a device. To Austin's eyes, the device appeared to be a boxy rifle with a glowing red casing.

"This is XCOM's prototype laser rifle. Armitech wanted to exchange two cases of them for a team of engineers. XCOM's leadership, sadly, denied our deal. In fact, I can confirm that XCOM has enough tech and knowledge that could turn the tide of this entire invasion. But, Mr. Brown, you seem to be more 'in the know' than me. Do you see your local law enforcement wielding these weapons? Do you see the military trumping the aliens in their engagements, instead of fleeing and leaving cities like Moscow and Perth to a fiery death?"

General took up the conversation. "XCOM remains held back by petty ethical concerns. They are afraid of transhumanism, Brown, and refuse to capitalize on its benefits. They are weak, crippled wise men, full of knowledge but unwilling to give it out. You're daughter is a good example."

"W-what about my daughter?"

"We know about her condition, Brown. We know she's slated for the morgue in, say, three months? Maybe four if she's lucky?"

There was silence. Then Austin exploded.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" he screamed, fists clenched. "DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT YOU GODDAMN PIECE OF –!"

"Calm down, Mr. Brown," Alpha said. She remained unfazed in the wake of Austin's emotional outbreak. "While it is a sad truth, it is the truth nonetheless. Your daughter will die. But guess what? XCOM could bring her back."

Those words struck through Austin's enraged mind, and stuck. He relaxed his arms and unclenched his teeth. Then, he motioned for Alpha to go on.

"You see, Mr. Brown. XCOM has not only evolved our technology. They have changed our very bodies. Manipulated genes to provide ordinary humans access to powers only seen in science fiction." Alpha turned towards the hologram projector.

"Computer, play Clip #1500, Juniper," she said.

The projector obeyed, playing a series of clips. What Austin saw was short of unbelievable. He saw soldiers, equipped with high tech military gear and weaponry, performing the impossible. A man in a red jumpsuit leaped up a two story high building in order to take up a position. A large, Mexican soldier lifted up a large chunk of concrete to save a fallen comrade. At the sight of a woman _disappearing_ as she reached a brick wall, Austin drew a sharp breath in.

"Brown, this is the truth. XCOM has the knowledge, but it sits on it. Monopolizes it, like a stingy tycoon," said General. "Your daughter, and thousands, if not millions, of people in this world can be saved through their technology. Imagine, cancer patients equipped with modified antibodies. First responders that can traverse dangerous terrain. Heart patients, like your daughter, who have not one, but TWO hearts to keep them going. But XCOM instead sits, blind to the ramifications of their actions. They think they want to help humanity, but they are crippling it."

Austin was stunned, his mind swimming as if a land mind had gone off in front of him. His previous biases were burned away by the footage, his gaze fixated on the repeated images of people doing the incredible. His practical, military mind was again at war with his fatherly instincts. One part of him begged him, screamed at him like a rabid drill sergeant, to leave the building, to get Samantha, to find Waters and get out of this… this trap. _Trap_ it was saying, _It's a trap, and it's going to be the end of you_. But another part of him calmly informed him of the outcome. Leave, and Samantha dies. Stay, and Samantha lives.

That part also grew enraged at the thought of XCOM. No longer did he see those figures in the video, in that organization, as heroic. He only saw a group of arrogant spooks, which thought they held the answers to the world's problems. A group that tossed away lives like it was no tomorrow. A sentiment like that, especially to an ex-military man, carried heavy impact.

Austin breathed as if a large weight were on his stomach. He did it slowly, and with a measured, rhythmic pace. Finally, he turned his gaze on the two in front of him.

"Well?" said General, impatience creeping into his voice.

Austin fixed him with a glare. "I see. I accept your… offer, Miss Alpha."

Alpha's face was vindictive, the triumphant, looming expression of a spiteful goddess. She stood from her chair, and extended her hand to Austin.

"Wonderful, Mr. Brown. Welcome to EXALT."

Austin looked at her hand, and shook it.

* * *

 **XCOM INTELLIGENCE REPORT**

To: Central Officer Bradford

From: Intel. Officer Pettachi (Major)

After the latest operation (see Operation Hot Mist), I want to recommend that we assign two officers to watch over Sgt. Waters. While his performance was exemplary, he was caught by his CO leaving the area after they had finished neutralizing enemy contacts. Apparently his CO is now in the infirmary with a broken nose.

More importantly, this is the fifth time Sgt. Waters has broken his oath. He has repeatedly insisted on mounting single man operations, or for a leave from the base, despite protocol. Doctor Tao has believed that Waters is obsessed. The official psychiatry report states that he is fixated on "rescuing" two individuals that he was accompanied with in the terror site. While it is likely those two are dead given the circumstance Sgt. Waters was found in, Intelligence has suspected that the two individuals who were "abducted" by the rogue organization were Sgt. Waters's escorts.

Intelligence prefers that that information be kept undisclosed to Sgt. Waters, as well as a personal note to exclude him from any Covert Operations. Again, have two high-ranking officers monitor his behavior, as not to endanger his wellbeing.

Thank you for your attention, Central.

\- Maj. Olivia "Haze" Pettachi


	3. The Wild Dog

It's quite understandable for someone to feel like shit after being simultaneously shot up and burned. But for Sgt. Bill "Remus" Waters, life had been a tumble into a barrel of shit. And Bill did not cope with that very well. A month after his rescue, he was a cocktail of condensed anger and sadness, held together by a newfound sense of duty. And lots of alcohol.

To be attacked by aliens is one thing. To then lose your dearest friend and be recommended for military service is another thing entirely. In a world turned upside down, a shot glass full of whiskey was a window to a saner, safer past. In the past few weeks, Bill had considered the bar and its manager, a pale Canadian gunner, as his place of residence and friends. Many of the rookies steered clear of the "Wild Dog", as he had become known. In a feigned slumber, he had even heard a brazen Cpl. take a bet on when and how he would be killed. Long story short, nobody questioned Bill's right hook afterward.

Not even the "Disciplinary Sessions" with Central Officer Bradford and Maj. Pettachi did Bill any good. Despite the shared American ethnicity between Bill and Bradford, they were as unlike as a human was to an alien. Bradford was the epitome of military neatness, from his regularly trimmed hair to his pressed and cleaned sweater. Bill likened him to "Officer Prettyboy", a bumbling, yet well kept, field officer from Bill's days in the Middle East. Prettyboy had little to no bark, and a nonexistent bite, an arrogant West Point graduate who signs on for the rank and prestige, without suffering the grit of the battlefield or the pain of a bullet wound. Bradford struck him of almost the same ilk, with one exception. Bradford had a bite.

"Do you know how much risk you put yourself and your squadmates into, Sgt. Waters?" Bradford said, his brown eyes burrowing into Bill's head.

Bill looked up, and simply shrugged.

"The area was secure, sir. I was in all rights to explore – "  
"Secure? You call two Seekers, and a Thin Man secure?" said Maj. Pettachi in a sarcastic Italian accent. The Major, in her blue hair and digital black camo, produced a file. "Must I give you _another_ lecture on XenoBestiary?"

"Designation: Lovecraft. Name: Seeker. This specimen is a robotic, squidlike creature capable of advanced tactical thinking," droned Bill. "It is capable of causing itself to become invisible for long periods of time, using its stealth as an opportunity to eliminate isolated targets via strangulation. Comes equipped with a plasma weapon. Highly dangerous, avoid contact."

"That's enough, Sergeant," Bradford said.

"Designation: Viperus," Bill continued. Name: Thin Man. This unit appears to resemble a 35-year-old Caucasian male, but it is reptilian in nature. Capable of vast range of flexibility and mobility, as well as expelling poison via – "

"That's enough, Sergeant!" Bradford yelled. He pointed a finger at Bill. "You may still think you're entitled to special treatment based on your circumstances. Once upon a time you were, but now you're only hanging on by your own merits. As long as you are part of this unit, you will abide by the Commander's protocol. If I see you in this office again, you will no longer be a part of XCOM!"

Bradford pinched the bridge of his nose, before walking out of the office. Bill remained in his seat. Maj. Pettachi gave a groan, and stood up, gathering her paperwork.

As she too began to walk out the door, she turned to Bill. "Sergeant, while you may be concerned with goals outside this organization, remember that there are other, more pressing issues."

"Such as?" replied Bill. He made no attempt to disguise the poison in his voice.

"Your CO for instance. Col. Rahmani is still in the infirmary."

"Oh, the dune-desert wonder? What about him?"

Pettachi made a noise in her throat, like she was a cat coughing up a hairball. "Last time I remember, you punched a member of XCOM in the nose. A member of _my_ squad, if I may add. You ought to make amends with him instead of chasing after ghosts."

Bill stood up, in a casual, nonchalant manner. However, Pettachi both had had enough training to recognize the bare anger in Bill's eyes.

"Sgt., you're going through what everyone else has gone through. Losing loved ones is a tragedy, and it takes time for us all to cope. However, you've shown signs of obsession. Not only are you continually doting on your past, you refuse to socialize or take care of the soldiers under your command."

"And why should I care, ma'am? It's easy to talk shit when you haven't been through _shit_ ," regarded Bill in an impetuous tone.

Pettachi turned, her face losing its orderly composure.

"I have been through shit, Sergeant. You lost a family, but have you ever lost a home too? Think on that when you get to the infirmary."

The Major turned and walked away, leaving Bill standing in the office.

Bill shuffled into the infirmary, the sterile white walls reminding him of his failure over a month ago. It was like reliving the whole thing again, when he woke up, rubbing his eyes, to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Of course, he had been wearing his burned, bloodied slacks and a regular shirt instead of the standard issue XCOM uniform. But the sight of any hospital was enough to bring back the memories, like a jolt of electricity to a dead circuit.

While the place tended to be stocked with the wounded, this month had been a calm one. Two rookies sat in the corner, guffawing over an unheard joke. A Medic walked by, prepping the cells needed for a Rapid Recovery Unit.

As Bill entered, a veil was cast over the entire place. The Medic gave the soldier a wide berth, while the rookies in the back went silent, as if the Commander himself had appeared. Bill was no commander, but a savage part of him enjoyed this kind of respect.

 _Not respect_ a part of him thought. _It's fear. It could be hate_. Bill's enjoyment stopped. Conflicted, he decided to end his little errand as soon as possible.

He walked over to one of the hospital beds lining the walls, where a bearded Iranian man was having his nose examined by a doctor. As Waters approached, the soldier motioned for the doctor to move aside, whereupon he stood.

"So, the Wild Dog finally visits his elder, eh?" Col. Aaron "Arash" Rahmani laughed. He placed his hand, calloused by years in the Iranian Freedom Guards, in front of his face, and began to stroke his bandaged nose. "You know it is very surprising! My nose will not be crooked – which means you must be here to finish the job, yah?" The hulking Middle Easterner laughed even more, the rich tones of his voice granting the laughter a higher, singsong pitch.

Bill couldn't help it, and started chuckling as well. "Sorry, Mr. Shah. You'll have to wait another day." While he may have hated to admit it, Bill knew that the Iranian was a boundless ray of sunshine. Since Iran had democratically elected their new Shah, one could see this positive attitude amongst most of the people of that region.

Aaron placed a hand on Bill's shoulder, while still chuckling. "Oh Waters, no man cannot be mad at you for long, yah? The Shah himself grants you his royal pardon!"

Bill smiled, but guilt began to rush in as he remembered his remarks in Bradford's office. Rahmani was one of XCOM's first recruits, part of the revered Novak Squadron that had made first contact with the invaders, and had successfully defused a bomb near the Chinese capital. Despite the months of battle, the man was a rug – he let anyone walk over him. It was a trait that one would think a disadvantage, but it really allowed the Shah to endear himself to his men. As he kept saying, he'd walk "to Hell and back" for any member of the team. For Bill, this meant he deserved much more.

"Sir, I still do beg your pardon. My behavior during Operation Hot Mist was against protocol, and damned foolish. I have forgotten my duties to my squad mates and the mission, and will not do so again in the future," Bill said, feeling his words as they marched out of his mouth. They were unusual, a foreign bacteria. The only other time he had formally apologized to a commanding officer had been back in the military, after he had tried to strangle an insurgent prisoner who had fired at Austin point blank. It was a slip of his temper, and an event he tried not to repeat. It was an apparently failed effort, given his conduct in XCOM so far.

In fact, he had almost attacked his rescuers, thinking they had killed Austin and Samantha. The thought of them brought both sadness, disbelief, and anger to Bill, who had always considered it his duty to stand by his commanding officer and his daughter. Failure was one thing he never admitted to, never appreciated, and when he did fail, he turned to anger as a draught to cloud out the pain of it. Even XCOM's strict training and psychiatry team could not wean him off that addiction.

Aaron placed another hand on Bill's shoulders. "No, Wild Dog. It is just a sign you still got the fight in you. I looked worse when I took plasma for Ms. Pettachi! Ask her! She can attest to that." His smile then turned into an exaggerated frown. "But I have been hearing that you have been bringing the fight still to your brothers and sisters, no? Corporal Shi talked quite a lot about you when he was here.

Bill flushed. When confronted with angry words and admonishing officers, it was easy to be angry in return. But when a man like Aaron confronted him, not with scolding but with genuine concern, Bill would be speechless. He was a dynamo, built for conflict, something that was not in need of support.

Aaron continued. "Wild Dog, you may feel like a lone wolf, a 'Yě gǒu', as Shi says. But you are one of us, brother!" Aaron added extra emphasis to that word, and beat his fist against his chest. "You are an XCOM soldier! But you are also a leader, an example, yah? By Allah, you must lead your brothers and sisters, keep them alive! Not just in the battlefield, but in your own house. In simple terms, you must make friends!"

Bill's mouth widened, and the Iranian laughed in response. "You seem surprised, no? Thought I would make you do twenty pushups, or a fifteen thousand mile jog? No, brother, by Allah's grace, I am here to help you."

He patted Bill's shoulder, and gestured to the infirmary exit. "Go," he said. "Get to know your brothers and sisters!"

Bill, his mind still reeling, walked unconsciously away from Aaron's bed. It was quite a ridiculous proposition, given his recent actions. Despite the connective atmosphere at XCOM, he had expected, and would have taken, a strong punishment of some kind. A custom common in a normal military unit to establish order. But then again, XCOM wasn't any normal military unit. Bill mulled over the thoughts in his head. Life had been a long, ugly conflict of Us vs. Them, man pitted against his fellow man. Now, though, the game had changed. Something had come straight from the stars, and that something intended to wipe out the entirety of mankind, regardless of race, creed, or color. For Bill, he saw that XCOM's policy of connection was more than enough to bind the hearts of men and women together in a time like this. A policy that he was very late in following.

Another thought whizzed through his mind. Despite his inner protests, he couldn't help but believe Dr. Tao's diagnosis of _"obsession"_. Like his drinking problem, he had been carrying two negative weights, being his former CO and his daughter. Perhaps now was the time to move on, to live with real people, in the real world.

A moan of pain cut through the train of thought in Bill's head, like a roadside IED. Turning, he noticed a young African American man, covered by a blanket, lying on a gurney near the entrance. Bill, seeing no orderlies were present to attend to the man's pain, approached. As he did, he noticed two things. One was the red, flame shaped tattoos on the man's dark neck. The other was the fact the man didn't have any legs.

 _More costs of war_ , Bill thought, as the reality of his situation dug in once more. He placed a cautious hand on the side of the gurney, and turned to face the soldier.

"Hey…" Bill said, searching for words. "What's wrong?"

The man tried to roll, but didn't succeed. A comical image of a hotdog on a rotisserie stand came to Bill's mind.

As the apparent pain abated, the man's face calmed, and he turned to look at Bill.

"N-nothing much. Just some of that phant – phantom limb stuff that Doctor Tao told me about. I've t-taken worse." The voice was young, with a hint of a New Jersey accent scattered amongst the words. He nervously scratched at a bandaged stump with a gloved hand, which Bill saw was scabbed from burns.

"You used to work in engineering, son?" Bill asked the man.

"I-I'm not one of those civies, sir" said the man, indignant. "Squad No. 3, Lcpl. Jayden Laureano. Experimental Division." He offered one of his hands.

Bill shook it. "You play with the new toys Engineering cooks up?"

Jayden smiled, his eyes lighting up. "Yessir. It's a pretty nice g-gig, although we get a few duds from time to time."

"You say that like you're still doing it."

"'Course, sir. They've got that new M-MEC bay comin' up. Signed up first opportunity I could. I mean, it's a-all under w-wraps, but they said they could get me my legs back."

"Really? I'd like to see that. I'll personally ask you for my squad when you're ready."

Jayden smiled even wider, which Bill previously thought wasn't possible. "Excellent, sir! Mind me askin', but what's your name?"

Bill smiled back, a tentative, but blooming thing. "Sgt. Bill "Remus" Waters, son."

Jayden's mouth opened, as if he were in the presence of an idol. Bill left him like that, feeling good after the talk. He hoped he'd see the young Lcpl. again, although XCOM's massive troop pool made that very unlikely.

 _Austin would be proud._ Bill thought. He'd live every day for them, keeping those memories not as shackles, but as inspiration to move on and renew his efforts to defend the human race. Even if what he loved most was gone, he'd fight to protect what was left of it.

* * *

 **PRIVATE MESSAGE RECEIVED**

RECIPIENT: Maj. Olivia Pettachi

SENDER: Central Officer Bradford

Sorry to sound unprofessional, Major, but I have to ask, what the hell did you do to Sgt. Waters? I saw what happened in the infirmary. Either you let Rahmani in on your little schemes, or you gave Waters one hell of a lecture. Given Waters's reaction to lectures, I'm going to assume the latter.

Forgive my questioning, but I'd like to be "in the know" next time you do anything involving our troops emotional and physical wellbeing. Vahlen and Shen already do enough things behind my back.

Anyways, thanks for reigning in Sgt. Waters. With his current track record, I'm rescinding your last order. You are to keep personal watch over Sgt. Waters in combat. If he does well under your watch, he might have a chance at heading his own command.

The Commander was right, Major. You are one of XCOM's most brilliant minds. We appreciate your help.

\- Central Officer Bradford

 **MESSAGE END**

 **REPLY  
FORWARD  
DELETE**


	4. Inner Workings

Austin felt alive, as he settled into the hunt. While his comrades bumbled along broken concrete, Austin stalked like a panther through the dilapidated city streets. It was like taking out an old chair, dusting it out, and relaxing in it. There was a familiar feel, a renewal of old patterns not seen since his tour of duty. His military mind was wide-awake, purring with contentment as it prowled alongside him.

Surrounding him was an EXALT squad, which he commanded. But even before Austin's assignment, his expertise and demeanor had already caused most of the squad to concentrate their respect on him. As five trained operatives watched, Austin crouched, listening with intent. Within the ruins of the city, there had been a soft crunch of gravel, followed by several more. The former Marine raised his weapon, pointing it at the source of the noises. Covert hand singles and nods were exchanged, and soon the whole squad had taken positions amongst the ruined buildings.

Instead of a scavenger or a civilian, three large, bulky shapes appeared in the distance. They carried a bit of a swagger, their combat boots crunching into the dirt. Light chatter pattered between two of the smaller, helmeted ones, who believed that the only threat they were facing was small, stupid, and dumb.

A mistake.

With casual ease, Austin flipped his gun to full auto and pulled the trigger. The weapon came alive, convulsing in Austin's hands as he kept it focused on the figures. The loud "brap" of machine gun fire tore apart the silent morning, followed by several more as the whole squad opened up on the three figures.

Bullets clattered off one of them, knocking him to the ground. The other hooked around a battered police car and returned fire, his gun strafing the opposite side of the street.

Austin flinched, hearing two yells as two of his men were hit. Realizing that he had evened the odds, the second man renewed his fire.

The third one, a large, bald Russian lacking a helmet, grunted as the bullets plinked off of his armor. Like a bull eyeing a matador's cape, he zeroed in on Austin's position and charged, firing blindly from his hips. Austin rolled behind a chunk of concrete and fired back. All of his shots hit with almost perfect accuracy, but his adversary merely stumbled, before resuming his suicidal run.

A loud crack briefly distracted Austin, who watched as another of his men fell screaming onto the street. A few more rounds managed to deter the large Russian, who crouched behind a section of concrete wall to recuperate.

With a moment to breathe, Austin gestured to another man, still hidden amongst the tangled remains of a building. Unlike his comrades, he had barely fired off a shot, his eyes focused on the scene with the determination of a hawk.

Upon receiving Austin's covert orders, he shifted, aimed, and fired into the distance. A scream, louder than the rest, tore through the morning air.

Before Austin could commend his squad mate's aim, another roar caught his attention. The bulky Russian, having regained his bravado, was charging Austin's position once more. The man crossed impossibly long distances with each footfall, and Austin realized he didn't have enough ammo to stop this brutal force.

Austin expended the rest of the rounds in his gun before bracing for the impact. He felt his leg muscles nearly explode from the shock as a two hundred pound missile leaped across the Austin's cover and slammed into him square in the chest. With a heave, Austin pirouetted, using the man's momentum to force him onto the floor.

Without missing a beat, the man got up, rubbing dirt off of his face. "EXALT motherfucker," he muttered. He turned and faced Austin. "So, spook, you want to tangle with me? Big mistake!"

He charged again, a crazed bull rush meant to knock the wind out of Austin's lungs and break his ribs. Rather than dodge, Austin stood his ground, gripping his now empty gun. As the man got within range, Austin moved like a viper, his arms moving in one quick, fluid movement as they jammed the rifle's stock into the man's crotch.

The man transformed from a tank of raging muscles and adrenaline, to a sack of bricks. He fell flat on his face, hands clutching his affected parts. Austin grinned, and scratched the back of his head.

"Sorry, partner. Maybe next time."

With that casual comment, a loud bell rang throughout the training course, signaling the end of the simulation. The "morning" sun disappeared, along with all other holographic projections that enhanced their environment. Medical and tactical personnel flooded the chamber, checking the vitals of the unconscious soldiers on both sides.

A South African man staggered into view, groaning from the impact delivered by the rubber bullets. A visible crack was seen on his combat helmet as he congratulated Austin's crack sniper.

"Friend! You are quite the shot, but you should tone down the trigger work. I won't be able to stand at this rate!"

The other man laughed, a sound that, although muffled by the scarf, sounded jovial and real. He stood, and walked over to embrace the other man.

The one Austin had so rudely downed was also conscious, smacking away the hands of a medic who was trying to check his pulse.

"Ranger, you think you can fight dirty like that?" the man growled. His voice, combined with his massive appearance, made him seem more like a grizzly rather than a human.

Austin chuckled. "Dirty or not, I still won. I _could've_ fought fair with you, but I probably would've wound up dead."

The man rubbed his chin, and spit. "True. But this is expected from underhanded American training, da?"

"'Course!" Austin said. "In the US, Bear, we're taught how to win!"

The operative, Bear, scowled, before sauntering off towards the exit. An Indian advisor, whom Austin knew as Bengal, approached him. Normally, the man was hard and wrinkled, common amongst people from that annexed province, Austin was surprised to see him smiling for the first time.

"Well, Ranger," said Bengal, referring to Austin by codename. "We're very impressed with your performance so far," the medic told him. "You've scored full marks on every part of this training course, from ambush tactics to CQC."

"T'weren't anything too difficult," Austin replied.

"Then you'll also be happy to know that the Cortex is ready to meet with you."

"Really?"  
"Certainly. Head to Central and we'll brief you."

Austin breathed in. EXALT training was almost as grueling as his time in the Marines. What it didn't have in sheer physical difficulty, it made up for in its lack of breaks. Of course, he had entered at a late start, with the added expectation of, whatever it was they wanted, on his shoulders.

Nonetheless, no one could accuse Austin of being disloyal to the cause. Over the course of a month, EXALT had noticed and taken advantage of his endurance and determination, to the point where a few of his squad mates would comment "This guy's fuckin' crazy." What made his time more bearable were his "work holidays" with Samantha.

Austin remembered those fleeting times with a lot of fondness. While she was confined to a secure medical facility deep in the EXALT base, the engineering staff had already established a covert Wi-Fi network in the base, allowing him to Skype with his daughter.

Their conversations were pleasant, full of reminiscing and talking to make up for the lost time in the past few months. However, they always ended on one uneasy note: Bill. Austin had no idea whether Bill had survived the incident at Waco or not. Currently, the US government had censored all information concerning the event, including the survivors. And EXALT's almost paranoid secrecy meant he couldn't exit the base or contact anyone outside of it.

This was maddening for Austin, especially since he was Bill's CO back in the US military. For every call, every casual greeting, every briefing, Austin always thought it was his old friend on the other end. Life in EXALT would have been much more bearable had his brother in arms been there, if not to share the burden, then to at least reassure Austin that he was alive.

But now, his training was over. If the briefing went well, he would be reassigned someplace where he could search for Bill's whereabouts, and at least make certain that he was alive. It was the least he could do for a man that got him off of heroine, and who followed his latest order to the letter in Waco. Despite the difference in rank and superiority, Bill was always the quicker, smarter, and more rational one. But he also was a team player, someone who stood by Austin when no one else wanted to be seen with him.

 _I'll find you, old friend_ Austin thought, his face set in determination. _Just sit tight. I remember you, and I'll pay back my debt_.

* * *

"What?!" Austin blurted, in the middle of the conference. He sank into his seat as forty pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

Central was an impressive room, fully fitted with lavish decor and high-end technology. Screens displayed tactical information from all corners of the world, while a large, red holographic globe dominated the center of the conference table. Surrounding it in a neat fashion were twenty of EXALT's best and brightest, the Cortex. These men and women, dressed accordingly in EXALT's meticulous "uniform", made up the brain of EXALT. Naturally, Alpha was present as well, her looks having improved since her first meeting with Austin. General, however, was nowhere to be found.

The man who had been briefing Austin stopped, stunned into silence. He turned to Alpha, who nodded at him to continue speaking.

"Yes, Operative Ranger," the man said, his words slurring through his thick Slavic accent. "The Cortex has already agreed that this is your assignment area." He gestured with a wrinkled hand at the center of Germany.

Another member of the Cortex turned to address Austin.

"While the circumstances surrounding your 'recruitment' were unusual, Operative, you were already singled out as a valuable asset to EXALT's mission."

The Cortex member produced several files and slid them towards Austin.

"While your background was verified, we never had any doubts if you would be able to fulfill our… expectations. Had you not, you would not be here, and you would not be informed of your true purpose.

"As General and Alpha have taken the liberty with informing you, you are a tactical genius, and a born soldier. Previously, our members had been taken from more prestigious and upper class pools. Good for public representation and political clout, but lacking in _skill_." The Cortex member loaded that last word with some venom, pointing it at the man opposite from her.

Austin nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"You are the second success of the Sun Tzu Program, designed to train operatives for full-on combat and command. You now have full command of EXALT field operations in any given nation."

Austin grunted. While earning a promotion was nothing unusual, being handed it from the get go without undergoing any field operations was absurd.

"I beg the Cortex's pardon," Austin said. "But I'm not sure whether that recommendation is warranted."

Another Cortex member, looking like he was from Nigeria or South Africa, chuckled. "I would say that evacuating a whole platoon of US Marines from a combat zone with five times the number of militants, without any friendly casualties, warrants this situation, Commander."

Austin sunk a little deeper into his swivel chair. Finally, it all made sense. He wasn't just being thrust back into the action, but he was being expected to lead the charge. Austin felt like a cadet once more, about to be bequeathed with the great honor of leadership. He felt the ghost of a cap being placed upon his head, the slight weight of the Captain's patch being sown onto his shoulder. Most would see it as an opportunity for glory and honor, another medal to hang in the living room. Austin, though, only saw the duty ahead. In the military, a rank and file soldier's priorities were himself and his comrades. A commander's priorities were the success of operations, and the lives of every man and woman under his command.

Austin suddenly felt intimately connected, a lifeline connecting him to the people he had all seen in his short tenure at EXALT. It was rejuvenating, to be among people once more, but it also made Austin afraid. His reclusive, retired life was being threatened, a shield of isolation he put upon himself to safeguard his mind from the pain of loss. Now he was being asked to lay it down, to be the shield.

"Will I be coordinating with the 'first' success of Sun Tzu, then?" Austin asked, regaining the composure in his voice. He had the small hope that he would have a predecessor to rely on. Especially one who had been experienced in EXALT field ops.

The table stirred, like a beehive that had been prodded with a stick. The ineffable faces of these EXALT counselors went from impassive to frenzied worry in the blink of an eye, steady whispers passing between members as the negative emotion took full hold.

Only Alpha remained resolute amidst it all, providing covert glares at her associates in order to rein them in. When the last of the whispers and glances had been smothered with brutal, businesslike efficiency, Alpha addressed Austin.

"Unfortunately, Commander, we lost contact with our previous protégé, Helios, after a particularly… unwelcome development. The details themselves are unnecessary and do not pertain to the matter at hand – what is of importance is the fact that his loss is one of the reasons you are being stationed in Germany.

"We have no time to waste with old history, Commander. What you need to know is that you will be working with a covert cell and our main scientific division. They are working on advancements that will prove most beneficial to our cause."

Austin nodded, his military mind happy to oblige the orders of his superiors. But, he had one more issue to bring up.

"I will understand and respect the wishes of the Cortex. However, as Commander, I will need a few… assets to ensure my success."

"What is your request, Commander?"

Austin took a large breath, prepping himself for the bomb he was about to drop amongst the stiff-necked Cortex.

"Members of the Cortex, I have two requests. My first is that my personal strike force will accompany me to the cell and operate under my orders alone."

"Done," replied Alpha.

"Finally, I request that my daughter be allowed to accompany me to the EXALT cell in Germany."

Alpha's face faltered, her cool demeanor cracked by a split second of uncertainty. Austin swallowed, fearing that he had pushed his luck too far. His fears seemed to be confirmed as Alpha began to whisper with the counselors beside her. One, a Caucasian man, seemed outraged at the audacity of Austin's request. The other, a man of East Asian ethnicity, seemed as impassive as Alpha was.

After what seemed like hours of deliberation, Alpha faced Austin.

"Done, Commander. However, I must warn you that your daughter is your responsibility only. EXALT personnel are under no obligation to risk their priorities over your daughter. Agreed?"

"Done," Austin said without hesitation. His voice, unlike the organized monotone it had been before, had a hint of happiness in it. Wherever he was going, at least he would be able to oversee his daughter's safety. He also, secretly, hoped that he would have faster access to any tools that could prolong, even save, his daughter's life.

Without a word, the Cortex members dismissed Austin. As Austin walked out, he looked back and wondered what other things the EXALT council knew, what they were hiding in the corners of that dark, ominous room. As the doors closed, their secrets cut off for now, Austin knew he didn't care. The means, in this case, mattered more than the end.

* * *

 **ARCHIVED FILE**

 **3 MONTHS AGO**

 **RESULTS OF QUESTIONING**

Recipient: Central Officer Bradford

Sender: Dr. Vahlen

You requested our latest breakthrough regarding the human captive we managed to extract from the combat zone in France. From the start, I must say this was a difficult enough case. While we could have gotten the information we needed from the captive using our "standard" interrogation tactics, my team and I felt uncomfortable subjecting a human captive to such a harsh method. Conventional questioning provided little useful knowledge. Finally, one of the doctors in the ward was able to administer a "truth drug" of sorts, created from the chemicals in the alien bodies. Such bodies are rife with chemicals, evidence of some kind of chemical conditioning. However, that will be research for the Commander to indulge in if he so wishes. As of now, you will be happy to know that the drug has worked, and that the subject will be handed over to the custody of the French government. Enclosed in this is the information we were able to divine from the subject. You may find it very… intriguing.

 **OPEN FILE?  
YES  
NO**

 **FILE OPENED**

 **PROFILE OF VALENTIN "HELIOS" BAUDIN CONDUCTED BY DOCTOR RICHARD TAO**

Subject known initially as "Helios" proved stubborn under first attempts at interrogation. The only information he gave us was what is assumedly his call sign – any attempt to gain any information was resisted, in such a way to make us believe that he was ex-military. After Dr. Ludovico Acciai synthesized and administered the truth drug from the alien chemicals, the subject became more docile and conversational. We have reason to believe that the drug triggered a hallucinatory affect, making "Helios" see us as his superiors. In any case, we found that "Helios" was actually one Valentin Baudin, a former member of the GIGN. Additional research allowed us to learn that Valentin became a military contractor, or mercenary, before lending his services to an unknown organization in 2007. When asked about this organization, Helios referred to it as EXALT. We tried to question him further, but the effects of the drug wore off at that point. Intelligence is unsure of what the name means, and so a report has already been sent to the Council. Hopefully they will be able to provide us with intel regarding EXALT.

\- Doctor Richard Tao


	5. Wilkommen

"Wow…" Samantha breathed, her face pressed against the window of the plane. It was almost noon, a point where the sun stood still in the sky, gliding in a peaceful manner next to the jet. Beneath the plane was the massive city of Berlin, Germany. Prior to the invasion, the German capital had been one of the Earth's technological wonders, an enormous, sprawling citadel of gray. Even after continued alien incursions, the nation still stood strong, its megacities lending a proud, noble air in spite of the threat facing Earth.

Austin couldn't help gasping as the plane began to descend, the white craft being swallowed as it veered into the depths of the city. Compared to his tiny Waco, Berlin might as well been the mythical city of Oz.

Finally, the jet docked into the airport. As the cabin finished shuddering and the tires made their final skid on the black asphalt, Austin and his team were the first ones up. While most of the other passengers fumbled at the straps of their seatbelts or awoke from their fitful naps, the EXALT team moved as one, picking up their luggage and moving in tight formation out of the plane.

Austin felt the cold in the air adhering to his face as he walked onto the tarmac. The German weather was invigorating, but also harsh. Austin's team, over half of who were from warmer climates, shuffled faster, clearly uncomfortable with the dramatic change in temperature. The standard attire and gear the EXALT agents wore had been packed into large suitcases, which in turn would be checked by a TSA agent in EXALT's payroll. The group themselves wore a stuffy arrangement of thick jackets and scarves. To the untrained eye, they looked like a band of tourists, rather than a colorful assortment of soldiers.

Inwardly, part of Austin didn't want this feeling of normality to end. Had this just been a normal vacation, he would have gladly taken he opportunity to talk and explore with his daughter. He envied the tourists around him, who, rather than scanning the horizon for possible threats, were gawking at the wonders of the megacity.

When the group reached a small café, Austin surveyed the strike force he had assembled during those grueling months in EXALT's command bunker. These men, of varying nationalities and skills, had trained, bled, and fought with him. All of them were trained killers, and loyal comrades. Austin only knew them by codename: they were Bear, the Russian heavy weapons expert, Amandla and 124, the South African and North Korean snipers, and Red, a Chinese rifle specialist. Friends and comrades. Superiors and subordinates.

The last two operatives, Gremlin and Viper, were ex-military operatives from France who had been chosen to accompany Austin based on capability. Both eyed the area around them nervously, as if a jolt of static was running along their spines. Gremlin had a particularly twitchy hand, which he tried to conceal by grasping onto the side of his table.

After several minutes passed, Austin saw a man in an immaculate tuxedo approach the café. He walked past Austin's operatives and stopped by Austin's table, whereupon he took a card out of his jacket and placed it in Austin's hand before vanishing into the crowd.

Samantha turned to Austin. "Dad, what was that all about?"

Austin didn't answer, his arm moving below the table to provide him a good look of the card without showing it to anyone else. Written in a fast, almost illegible script were the words "Transportation arranged. Entrance 5B. Blue van." Next to this was a stamp, depicting a hexagon and an eye, EXALT's code of arms.

"Honey," Austin replied. "Our bus is ready. I'll let the others know." With a glance, Austin mobilized the team. Everyone shouldered their packs, and began the trek to the designated location.

After some time, the team finally arrived at Entrance 5B. It was a lonely stop, with hardly any signs of life. However, as soon as Austin stepped through the sliding doors and into the brisk German air, a blue Lufthansa bus wheeled onto the road with reckless abandon. It braked in front of the terminal doorways, and spat out two uniformed men. Red and orange scarves covered the entirety of their faces, marking them as EXALT operatives. The two began to load the team's equipment in the bus, while Austin herded his team inside. As soon as everyone had been seated the two drivers reentered. One of them grasped the wheel, and started the ignition. The whole thing was accomplished in with an almost comical amount of silence.

The bus moved forward, using a more casual speed rather than the crazed pace it had been moving at before, which made Austin breathe a sigh of relief. The scenic views of the megacity floated in and out of his vision, growing smaller and smaller as the bus headed towards the outskirts. Here, Austin saw buildings that stood at less ambitious heights, each one yet to receive an augmentation from German building companies. The foothold of the modern era was not gone, though. Within the center of this district was a large, white building, its architecture a visible reminder of the city's advancement. Holo-signs flickered along the most prominent areas of the building, announcing its owners, the GenTECH Corporation. Like Armitech, GenTECH was a wealthy company, specializing in stem cells and gene therapy rather than firearms. It was making medical breakthroughs all over the world, with its directors happily donating to charity and areas suffering from alien incursions.

Which, from Austin's knowledge, made it the perfect place to hide an EXALT cell.

* * *

Austin and his team walked into the building, which was a beehive of activity. Scientists and programmers moved to and fro through the long, sterile hallways of the facility. A group of tourists shuffled past, murmuring with amazement about the GenTECH facilities, not giving the EXALT operatives a second glance. The men who had escorted them to the building grouped everyone into a large elevator at the far end of the lobby. The doors closed, and the elevator began to descend a few floors before it reached a stop.

The doors opened, and with unnerving timing, a tall, German man in a white lab coat stood on the other side.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Commander," the man said in a neat, cutting accent. "I am Asclepius, head researcher. Not my real name, but protocol is protocol."

Austin nodded and thought, _Goddamnit. When the hell am I going to learn someone's real name here?_ He turned to the scientist and said, "Glad you run a tight ship here."

" _Danke_ ," replied Asclepius. "Hopefully you find our facilities adequate enough for operations." He turned, exposing the inner workings of the EXALT cell to Austin.

Despite the covert nature of the cell, it was just as busy as the legal operations going on above it. The whole thing was based inside a large, underground laboratory, which doubled as a testing facility and EXALT's main gene research center. At the center of this anthill of labs and barracks, was the control room, a place full of computers and paperwork. Large computer screens, similar to those in Central, relayed information from other cells. On the ground were several rows of laptops, set onto wooden tables. Dozens of operatives stared into the screens, working with an efficient and intense fervor, while others moved about, either entering or exiting the other areas of the facility.

"I do hope you will enjoy your stay here, Commander," said the German scientist. "We find it quite an honor, as well as a relief, that a field commander is to be stationed here."

"Likewise," Austin replied. "How far has EXALT penetrated into GenTECH?"

"Quite far," replied Asclepius. "Our current director is actually a member of the Cortex, while most of our researchers are supplied by EXALT."

"I'm guessing GenTECH stands to make a lot from the alien invasion?" Austin inquired.

"Certainly. Of course, technology isn't your primary concern, Commander. If you wish, you may visit my – I mean, our research department for information on our latest discoveries. For now, I believe the, uh, _former_ base commander wants a word with you.

"Also, _fraulein_?" called the scientist. Samantha gave the man a sideways glance.

"Yes, little Miss, you are due for an appointment. Priority Two call from the Cortex. I'll take you to Dr. Hertz. Come, we don't have all day!" The man walked off, accompanied by Samantha.

"We're in an alien invasion, and we still have to do checkups?" she grumbled. She waved at her father, and continued walking. Austin watched, and smiled, a halfhearted, brittle thing. While the entire affair was going smoothly, with GenTECH providing the scientific aid, he didn't know how this would affect the relationship with his daughter. Hospitals had already strained the bond between them. Names like _St. Mary's_ and _Jude's Children Hospital_ infuriated him to no end. And still, the isolating aspects of these care facilities hounded his shadow.

As his paternal mind pondered and complained, the military side of him told him to grow up and do what he was meant to do. And Austin did just that.

Accompanied by the team, Austin made his way to the command center of the EXALT cell. Noticing their presence, a man shouted "Commander present!" prompting the other operatives to stand at attention. It was quite a display. Red stirred uncomfortably, while Bear grinned at the attention. While this went on, a woman, another American, walked up to Austin. He saw her swagger, which belied a confident, concrete personality; one that fit quite well with the suit she wore. Austin instantly realized that she was the base commander.

"Are you Helios's replacement?" the woman said, the question accompanied by a condescending expression as she looked Austin up and down.

"Yes, ma'am. Field Commander Ranger," Austin replied. At the last minute, he decided to salute. Better to build bonds through respect rather than arrogance or fighting.

"Good, you're needed. We're planning an offensive, but none of these goddamn pretty boys here can agree on one fucking thing. Hopefully you can throw in some good old fashioned American sense." The woman's brash and crude attitude was worlds away from the almost inhuman composure of Alpha. Several of the operatives chuckled at her insult, and went back to working.

As the woman turned to walk away, Austin said "Wait, don't I need a briefing of some kind?"

"Briefing later. We need this now or we're in deep shit."

"Right." Austin turned to his comrades. "Head to the mess. You all need to be refreshed and ready for any situation." The operatives nodded, and left the area. Then, Austin followed the woman over to a large computer, whose monitors were focused on a complex in the middle of Germany.

The woman and a man, who still wore his scarf, were hunched over the keyboard. As Austin approached, the woman turned back at him.

"Cipher, this is Ranger. Ranger, Cipher. He's the resident jarhead, and he'll tell you what we need."

Cipher looked up at Austin, and nodded with approval.

"Well, _Ranger_ , our staff is at an impasse right now regarding our operations against XCOM. You do understand how we operate, correct?"

Like the scientist, Cipher's voice was very cultured, manicured, with an accent that resembled a Polish one. Already, Austin realized this man was one of EXALT's elite, soft, arrogant, and intelligent.

"Yes," Austin said, remembering the training he had received. EXALT used very subversive methods, ranging from leaks of classified data to straight up diverting government funds to EXALT bank accounts. He motioned for Cipher to continue.

"As you know, XCOM has deployed multiple bases, each one dedicated to a different aspect of the XCOM operation as a whole. The one in Germany, designated XCOM Europe, is our counterpart, a research facility that is leagues beyond anything Earth's leading scientists have dreamed up. Right now, they're on the verge of groundbreaking research, which is the world's first interrogation of an extraterrestrial. We need to stop that."

"However," interrupted the base commander. "XCOM Asia has amassed a wide variety of funds in order to break ground with their air game. If they dominate that area of the invasion, they will have a good chance of ending it early. We need to keep that aircraft fleet mothballed."

"What's the third option?" Austin said, his voice slow as he took in the enormous decision that had been thrust onto him.

"Panic," said Cipher. "We have several contacts in XCOM and in the government who have provided us with some delicious tidbits of information. If we release that to the public, it will increase the chances that a country will stop sending assets to XCOM and start making a bid for peace with the – "  
Austin started. "No, absolutely not." Images of Waco flashed in front of his eyes.

The base commander and Cipher stared, disbelief flashing across their faces.

"Alright, then," said Cipher, clearly not in the mood to argue with a superior. "Panic usually isn't the best strategy at our disposal, anyhow. But, Ranger, you still need to make a decision. Mind you, we _could_ use the data we retrieve from XCOM."

"On the other hand, Commander, tampering with XCOM Asia's assets will result in less chances of a retaliation strike," said the base commander. "But, the choice is up to you. No one else can agree on anything."

 _Like a damn video game_ , Austin thought. Yet, his mind was trained to work well under fire, physical or mental.

Logistically, crippling XCOM's air force would be prudent. Austin had studied the Interceptor designs, and he knew that they were on par with the weakest documented alien ship. With a few augmentations, though, those craft could become formidable.

However, the research gained from an interrogated alien – God, the thought of that was tempting. It would put EXALT one step closer to unlocking the secrets behind genetic manipulation., and a cure for his daughter. To temper the emotions behind his decision, Austin also rationalized that blocking XCOM research would deter their combat capability when raiding EXALT cells, as well as blocking advancements for Interceptor research.

 _You also want it to end, don't you?_ , his military mind hissed. _You want to leave this whole thing behind, to reject your duty!_ Austin shook his head, dispelling that thought. Prudence was a good part of his personality, but it certainly didn't equate to cowardice. Didn't it?

"Set up a research hack," Austin said. "Stopping XCOM's research will benefit our own and cripple the technological advantage XCOM has."

Cipher cracked his knuckles. "Very strategic, Ranger," he said, before turning to the computer. "You all, get off your asses! Plan of action has been decided!" he shouted at the rest of the operatives. Cipher's authority in this cell was apparent, as the slow pace of the central office morphed into a hive of activity. Men and women ran to their terminals in a frenzy.

After five minutes of what Austin could only describe as a river of clicks and beeps, Cipher looked up from his computer monitor, finished.

"The virus has been set up, and we'll be sending it into the XCOM mainframe in about three days."

"Good," the woman replied. "That means we have 9 days to prepare.

"For what?" said Austin.

The woman looked at Austin with an exasperated expression, as if she were dealing with a rookie rather than a commanding officer.

"9 days before XCOM shows up and bashes our fucking heads in, idiot."


	6. Weaponry and War Tactics

To XCOM's credit, it took them 6 days to amass a strike force to retaliate against EXALT. 6 days was long enough for Austin to acquaint himself with the entire base.

The diversity of the cell surprised him. Back at the command center, the unspoken protocol had been absolute conformity. Here, variety was untamed, spreading from the lowest recruit to the base commander.

Austin's reaction to this was mixed. There were more than a few snobby pricks, wealthy persons whose prestige and bank accounts had served the EXALT cause. There were others, though, who had more enjoyable personalities.

One of them was the EXALT quartermaster, a venerable Chinese man named Pinyin. When Austin first saw him, he noticed the strands of white dotting Pinyin's hair, as well as the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Those eyes practically shone when he hefted a large sniper rifle.

"Much of our weaponry comes from Armitech," Pinyin explained, his small hands running down the length of the black gun. "Although they do funnel it through several partnered companies, to avoid a direct connection with EXALT.

"This little _meinu_ is the German Nilsen Khilroy. Fires .50 caliber bullets and is faster than any other conventional firearm."

Bear and Red, both of who had jumped at the chance to view the heavy weaponry, looked dissatisfied and bored.

"Is good," said Bear. "But I have no knowledge in this weapon. Do you have anything… bigger?"

Austin was amazed to see Pinyin's eyes shine even brighter, as if a light bulb, powered by the thought of weaponry, was inside them.

"Certainly, Mr. Bear." Pinyin turned around, grabbing a large, black tube from the wall. He laid the massive thing on a table, and began to inspect its barrel. "You see, Mr. Bear, EXALT always covers its bases. This is the pride of the armory: the Ender-15 Anti Personnel Fragmentation Device, or E-15 APFD. A highly portable piece of equipment, and it's adaptable too! We could modify our rockets, had we the technology, to amazing extents!"

Bear laid his own massive hands on the APFD, holding the deadly thing like a musician inspecting an instrument.

"I like this weapon," Bear said. The smile on his face, and Red's fierce nodding, were evidence of their satisfaction.

Pinyin clapped his hands in delight.

"This is mighty fine tech, Pinyin," Austin said. "How can we ensure that XCOM can't get their hands on it, though?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Pinyin said, excited at the idea. "Heph, bring me the transmitter!"

A woman, her hair in a bun, appeared from behind a rack of assault rifles, a pair of glasses perched on her inquisitive eyes. Without a word, she produced a small chip from a pocket in her waistcoat, and handed the device to Pinyin.

"You see," said Pinyin, showing Austin the delicate piece of equipment. "EXALT has managed to create a sophisticated network system, that ties both our communications and weaponry together.

"This chip," he continued, gesturing wildly, "Contains unbelievable security measures. Finger-print identification, pulse-identification, even a neurological dead man's switch!"

"Is that what all those towers are for?" said Red, his voice harsh and grating from living in the Hong Kong slums.

Pinyin nodded. "Indeed, my friend. Those are Portable Combat Relays, top of the line. Although we have had some problems with hacking in the past – "

"No worries, Pinyin," Austin said. "I'm certain with equipment like this we'll be able to handle any threat. I'm quite impressed."

"Commander, no need for compliments. I'm the toolmaker, you are the soldier." The man chuckled, as if the matter of combat was no more than a teatime conversation.

Austin's time in EXALT's research center, however, was far less interesting. Had there been anything of interest to report in the laboratory's findings, any breakthrough whatsoever, Austin would have found his interest piqued. However, he only found that Asclepius was quite good at explaining at length that nothing of interest had occurred.

"– and of course, we are focusing most of our efforts on the alien genetics, which have the most exquisite details – or, at least the parts we've been able to get, which are few and far between." Asclepius was a chatty man, although he at least was eloquent enough to get away with it.

"I see," Austin replied in a neutral tone. Bear and Red had left, with Amandla keeping him company this time. The South African was more attentive towards Asclepius's lecture.

"Is there anything that will help improve our combat capabilities?" he asked.

"Well," Asclepius said, putting a hand to his chin. "We have been experimenting with a few adrenal gene mods, based on the alien cardiovascular samples we scrounged from XCOM operations. We also are performing tests on our current Kevlar vests, strengthening the fibers. Did you know that alien alloys could be hammered into wire?"

"I didn't realize that," Amandla replied with absolute sincerity.

"Truly, we have remarkable substances at hand."

"My daughter," Austin pressed, a bit tired of the current topic. "How is her condition?"

Asclepius used the same tone he had reserved for the scientific research. What Austin was able to learn that his daughter's condition was "manageable, but still incurable" with snatches of "prolonging the current lifespan" and "possible cure with better alien samples". He also heard the doctor mutter under his breath regarding said samples, something about "damned XCOM and their explosives fetish".

Thankfully, the tour of the research facility wasn't too long. Throughout the rest of the days, Austin was able to connect with pretty much every member of the cell.

There was Hickory, head of Covert Operations, a pragmatic, yet informal Australian businessman. DD, the Nigerian head of security. The Estonian engineer, Xeno.

Despite these little meet and greets, Austin rarely got a chance to meet with the base commander. She was elusive, a shadow amongst the already obscure EXALT operations. Most of the others didn't have much to say about her, besides her hardass tendencies and her inability to be in one place. Austin assumed that she still had much more business to take care of.

Austin felt more comfortable towards by the 6th day. Finally, he could put a name to the people who walked around him. He felt firm, secure, held down by the people he now knew. Although most of his bonds were entirely professional, he now had what amounted to a family.

 _Quite ironic_ , his paternal mind remarked, _how you find a family after you leave behind Samantha and Bill._

 _Shut it_ , Austin's military mind growled back.

* * *

Jimmy Hernandez stared in frustration at the alien corpse sitting in front of him. "Now why did you have to go and die on me," he said, remonstrating the dead thing. The floater's head, lying flat on the autopsy slab, gave no reply.

Hernandez slammed a fist onto the table, making the corpse shudder. Weeks of his life poured into studying the brain waves of this creature, of fine-tuning interrogation processes, only for it to be stolen in the blink of an eye. Or, in Hernandez's case, the blink of an exclamation point.

Call it what you will, but Hernandez considered interrogation to be almost artistic. Not in the sadistic "we have ways" crap from movies, but in the technical side.

The aliens spoke a language that had different roots from human tongues. Some, like the floater, didn't even speak, instead using moans and screams, like early cavemen. That put a wrench in communication. Dr. Vahlen's interrogation technique was hardly perfect either. While extracting and recording images from the brain was a feat, Hernandez and his colleagues still had to contend with putting the shattered pieces together.

Floaters were, at the moment, the hardest. If you could call that mush of grey matter a brain, it was a horrific one at that. Dr. Ludovico joked that it was the "Commodor 64" of sentient species. Slow, stupid, and broken all the goddamn time.

Still, it was fascinating to see through the eyes of an extraterrestrial, who he had called "Orville". Hernandez had put together glimpses of Orville's "creation", watching the specimen being cut apart and mashed with electronics. The images still gave Hernandez shivers. Besides conjecture, the interrogation had provided useful information in regards to Orville's amazing armor plating. It didn't concern Hernandez as much, but to the engineers, it was something out of their wet dreams.

However, that information was useless. Gone, plugged away by some asshole off in God knows where. Two days after the information had been hacked, Orville expired, and was about to be carted off with the rest of his brothers and sisters in the XCOM morgue.

"Done giving your last condolences to 'Orville', Jim?" said a voice.

Hernandez turned. "Morning, Madison."

Madison Roy, holding a cup of coffee and wearing the standard green XCOM sweater, nodded.

"Is the departed at ease?"

"The funerary service certainly isn't."

Roy sighed and took a look at the floater.

"What can I say, Jim? Nothing else can be done about it now until the Dune Desert wonder bags another one.

"And no," Roy said, her words pointed and accusing. "You're not going with the XCOM team, no matter how many tales the rookies keep telling you."

"I tested the first beam laser," Hernandez said. "I've worked at the police –"

"As an analyst. Fire a million lasers, vaporize a million paper sectoids, you know the drill. We weren't hired for our muscle. Our pay is for our brains."

Roy stirred her coffee, and watched Hernandez slump onto the table.

After letting it sit for a few minutes, Roy said "Well, Jim, if you're going to be like that, I guess you'll miss the XCOM team heading out to the EXALT cell…"

"What?!" Hernandez yelled, his body becoming rigid once more.

"Indeed, they're – "  
Instead of responding, Hernandez dodged past Roy and almost flew up the stairs. He ran through the winding hallways of the XCOM facility, the map to the place remembered by heart. It took him a minute of sprinting to make it in time to the launch pad, to watch the enormous Skyranger lift off, its VTOL jets pushing it out of the base.

"Give 'em hell!" Hernandez whooped, lifting one arm in a lab coat to the air. The Skyranger answered with a mighty boom as it propelled itself into the distance.


	7. Butting Heads

It was another chiller for Bernard as he made his way back to the shelter. Cold wind snipped at his jacket as he walked forward, his body aching for a warm meal and a comfy bed.

Life had been cruel to ol' Bernie. Unemployment, and continual job rejections had whittled down his soul into a nub. That was, until, he had found the saving grace of one of Germany's new care organizations.

He was grateful too. The nights in Berlin had gotten colder. Something to do with "strange weather phenomena". Snow was predicted to arrive three months earlier, and a harried news reporter had described an instance of "monsoon level rain" in Arizona, the United States.

As his wrinkled loafers trudged down the clean streets, Bernard heard the sound of a motor. Loud and angry, it buzzed from the street behind him. He leaped to the side, into an alleyway as a large, black van barreled past.

The van stopped, and Bernard heard the sound of shuffling feet. With care, he pushed his head around the corner.

Men were spilling from the van, at least ten of them. All of them wore formal dress, ballistics vests, scarves, and heavy weaponry.

Bernard rushed back into hiding. Hundreds of his fellow homeless had gone missing over the weeks, and Bernard had no doubt this gang was somehow involved. And disappearing was not the first thing on Bernard's to do list.

Burt, when no signs came that they saw him, Bernard looked again.

The men, and the van, were gone. Vanished into the Berlin night.

Bernard walked out, relieved to have left that situation behind. Before he could take another step, a larger, deeper sound occurred above his head.

The German looked up, and saw a fat, snub-nosed craft hovering overhead.

Bernard fainted in the alleyway.

* * *

"All right, boys and girls," said Bill Waters, addressing squad Clover. "Our main objective is to raid this facility, and hack the transmitter that's been left for us. Intel reports it may be in the computer labs of the GenTech facility, which is about ten meters from our current position.

"I don't want any fucking around. We get in, kill these EXALT bastards, and get out. Understood?"

Low voices conveyed their understanding.

Bill hefted his scatter laser and took point. He walked down the street, taking cover behind a yellow car before signaling to the rest of Clover squadron.

Cpl. Sún Shi, beam laser in hand, walked over to the car. Behind him was Sgt. Pula Moodley, with a trio of medikits clustered around her waist.

The whirring of servers brought over the final member of Clover squadron. Almost eight feet tall, Lcpl. Jayden Laureano stomped over to the car. While Bill couldn't see past the man's helmet, he had a good feeling that he was smiling.

"Enjoying yourself, Laureano?" said Moodley. The MEC trooper nodded. "Good. Now get the hell down, you lunk."

Laureano obliged, forcing his MEC into a crouch that hid its bulk behind a car. The Lcpl's helmet surveyed the area, and came to rest on Bill's face. Bill uneasily back.

He wasn't aware of the full costs of MEC augmentation, but he knew that piloting a MEC wasn't like driving a pickup. A few engineers had mentioned their misgivings on the MEC project, but when Austin pressed them, they clammed up immediately.

Still, there were other things to worry about. This was XCOM's first use of a MEC trooper in combat. While the eggheads had predicted that there was an 87% chance of perfect functionality (the other 13% running the gamut from self-destruction to brain aneurisms), anything less than a 100% was risky to Bill. Experience in the field told him that.

"Zero," he said. "Is the motion scanner telling you anything?"

Cpl. Shi glanced at the device clipped to his belt. "3 signatures, to our right. They're approaching our flank."

Bill nodded. "Blocky, Laureano, I'll take point. Follow me. Shi'll cover us."  
"Affirmative," replied Moodley, responding to her callsign.

Laureano nodded.

The three took off, sneaking behind cars until they arrived at the position that Shi had indicated. Moodley took cover behind a park bench, while Laureano covered Bill with his minigun. Bill himself took a few tentative steps forward, moving closer and closer to the hostiles.

A shadow rose on his right, a laser rifle in its hands. Close combat training took hold, and Bill moved to disarm his assailant with a chop to the neck.

The shadow caught Bill's hand in midair. In the next moment, it pivoted and socked Bill in the stomach with the butt of its rifle.

"Remus!" said Moodley, raising her laser rifle at the attacker. Laureano followed suit, the barrel of his minigun making a low, rumbling noise.

In response, the shadow grabbed Bill by the throat. The American found himself facing his comrades.

"Don't move," murmured the figure. It pointed its rifle at Moodley. "Drop your arms."

Moodley looked at her squad leader and dropped her rifle. As she knelt, she noticed the markings on the enemy's weapon.

"Wait – " she spoke up.  
"No!" The figure spoke in a harsh whisper. It jammed its rifle against Bill's throat. "Don't move!"

Moodley froze, her statement stuck in her mouth. She resisted the urge to shout at the stupid son of a bitch.

"It's alright," said a voice. Moodley, Bill, and the figure looked at Laureano. The MEC trooper had finally spoken.

"We are from XCOM Europe," he continued, enunciating every word in a cold, robotic tone.

The figure dropped the laser rifle from Bill's throat, and said something into a communicator on its wrist. Moodley couldn't make out what language it was.

Bill moved out of the way, and finally got a good look at his attacker. The man was a German, wearing standard issue Phalanx armor. He had a small, reddish beard running across his face, ending when it disappeared into the military helmet perched on the man's head.

The soldier turned to the XCOM team. "Who authorized another strike force on this cell? And who brought this?" The man pointed at Laureano.

Bill stepped towards him. "We are squad Clover. _That_ is Lcpl. Jayden Laureano, XCOM's first MEC. I am Sgt. Bill Waters, and my team and I were not aware that the Commander had ordered _two_ strike teams."

The German cursed. "Does that _dummkpof_ still not realize that covert operations are under our jurisdiction?"

"Whose jurisdiction?" asked Bill.

"We're wasting time here," said Moodley. "We need to get that encoder."

"If they're XCOM, we could use the support," replied Bill.

"As if squad Jaeger needs it," the soldier retorted. "We can –"  
"Quiet, _Abzug_."

Following this interruption, two more figures emerged from hiding. One was a man in a black beret and Phalanx armor, with a scatter laser mounted on his back. The other wore a full set of German Hyperion armor, an outdated model that was on par with XCOM Tactical armor.

"Name and ranks?" the masked man said. Bill, Moodley, and Laureano complied, reciting the necessary information.

"Tell your man over there to stand down," the soldier said. "He's had his sights on Abzug since that _arschloch_ decided to reveal himself."

"Alright," said Bill, briefing Shi on the current situation. When he was done, the armored soldier walked toward him.

"We have little time to waste," he said. "We are squad Jaeger, part of XCOM Asia. I am Jäger, this is Panzer. Abzug, you have met. You will answer to my orders, since this area is officially under our authority. Any needless and wasteful arguing will not be tolerated… by _anyone_."

The man directed his last words at the red-haired soldier, the one called Abzug. The man scowled and turned about.

Moodley also felt like scowling. While she had no problem giving up command, she wasn't about to do so to this arrogant gang, even if they were XCOM.

"Fine," said Bill, before she could voice her opinion. "We'll deal."

* * *

"They're here."

A troupe of ten men, clad in EXALT attire, walked into the lobby of GenTECH.

"Hello, boys," said Austin. "Glad you could make it."

One of the group, the young man who had spoken earlier, nodded. "Field Operative Hex," he said. "How many have you got to defend this place?"

"Fifteen for the upper floors. The rest are underground. What's the status on XCOM?"

"They're right on top of us, sir. Their craft was tailing us as we drove from the airport."

Austin nodded. That XCOM had gotten the jump on them 3 days early was troubling. Now he had a partially trained force to throw against the world's deadliest soldiers. Not exactly an excellent prospect.

"Any intel on their numbers?" he asked.

"Our contacts informed us the strike force will be a full complement – between four to seven XCOM operatives," replied Hex.

"Alright. Take your men and scatter into squads of three to five. Shoot and report anyone or anything that gets within five meters of the perimeter."

"Roger, Commander."

Hex organized his men, and they scattered into the night. Austin and his men then continued their task of guarding the lobby.

Out of annoyance, Austin tugged at the straps of his pack. The standard EXALT medical kit was a makeshift affair, a red plastic container strapped on with rough leather straps. The arm guard was even worse. Austin had tied it too tightly, causing the leather sheath to chafe his forearm.

He took a deep breath through the scarf. He could have inconvenienced himself less by grabbing a sniper rifle or a heavy machine gun. The tests proved he was adept at any form of weaponry. But the facility was lacking in trained field medics, and Austin's medikits and smoke grenades would provide far more security for his men than guns would.

Behind him, the fifteen started their patrol, wandering through the facility. Half of them hoped to come to grips with XCOM. The other half was scared shitless, hoping against hope that they wouldn't come in contact with the XCOM force.

You can guess who found the team first.

* * *

Heavy Weapons Operator Phobos screamed as a red line cut through the air. The laser had sliced through the beefy Indian's shoulder before stopping on the wall behind him. It had come out of nowhere, faster than anything the EXALT operatives had ever seen.

Despite the burning pain running up his body, the EXALT Heavy was alert, adrenaline pumping into his veins. He got up almost immediately, and rolled into cover. The rest of his comrades followed.

"Dammit. Target is still alive," said Cpl. Shi. The coolness in his voice startled Bill, who had been sneaking up on the EXALT flank.

"Roger, moving in," replied Panzer, the soldier in the beret. He moved across the parking lot, his movements masked by his black-tinted Phalanx armor. Abzug and the armored soldier, Jäger, followed him.

As they reached the wall of the facility, Jäger lifted three fingers. As he curled the last finger, he nodded at Abzug. In reply, the soldier lobbed a black cylinder over the windowsill.

Phobos had enough time to see an object rolling toward his position.

"Flashbang!" he yelled, not bothering to use the EXALT comm. He picked up his LMG and moved, staying low to the floor. A burst of light registered in his periphery.

An EXALT sniper tried to follow Phobos, but the moment he lifted his head, he fell back, half of his cranium a smoking ruin.

"Go, go, go!" yelled Jäger. Panzer and the rest of squad Jaeger broke through the windows, closing the distance between EXALT and their scatter lasers. Bill and Moodley followed in after them.

Squad Jaeger had distracted the main force, which consisted of two wandering EXALT patrols. Three men in orange bandanas lay dead on the ground, while the rest were hunkered behind the computer terminals.

Panzer slid, his smooth armor plating carrying him underneath most of the computer desks. He popped up, face to face with an EXALT sniper who had been steadying a large, ominous looking rifle. Before the man could even comprehend what had happened, Panzer eviscerated the man's midsection with one shot from his scatter laser. The well-dressed assassin did a flip and smashed into a table.

Bill ran past Panzer and barreled into a group of five EXALT. As the operatives readied their weapons, they expected an easy kill. After all, 5 to 1 meant the odds were in their favor.

Bill's close combat training evened out those odds.

Behind Bill, Moodley took her position and laid out a salvo of suppressive fire, creating a deadly lightshow in the room. Heavies and snipers crouched, unable to get accurate shots on the enemy.

On the other side, Phobos stood to lay down suppressing fire of his own. The sight of another of his men taking a laser to the face made him think otherwise. He crouched, huddled next to a wide-eyed Medic.

"Contact Hex!" Phobos yelled at the man. The Medic nodded, and brought out his handheld communicator.

As Shi steadied for another shot, he heard garbled traffic over the comms. Remembering his Covert Ops classes, he crouched down and contacted Bill.

"Waters!" Bill stopped, hand to one ear.

"What is it, Shi?"  
"EXALT comms, sir! They're trying to contact the rest of the cell!"

"Shit," Bill murmured. "Well, Zero, nothing we can do about it now. Keep shooting."

"Aye, sir." Shi cut off his comms and steadied his rifle.

* * *

Hex ran alongside Austin as the squad charged down the length of the facility.

"Phobos's team just contacted me! The XCOM team is assaulting the computer labs, which means they're trying to hack our system!"

"Can your man hold out?" Austin asked.

"Certainly," Hex said. "Phobos is reliable. But he can't take on seven XCOM operatives forever!"

"We'll be there, don't worry," Austin reassured him. He pulled out his communicator.

"All EXALT squads, converge on the GenTech computer labs. It is imperative that we stop them there." After finishing, Austin picked up the pace. His military mind whooped with joy, urging him onward towards the fight.

* * *

"Shit!" yelled Abzug. The German soldier had taken a bullet to the shoulder, stopping his killing spree. Moodley ran alongside him.

"Cool it, hun," she said, pointing a medikit at Abzug. The nanosutures and stimulants within the container came out in white foam, covering the affected area. Despite the medical treatment, Abzug continued to scream and curse. Moodley resisted the urge to spray the rest of the medikit into his mouth.

Before she could head back to her position, a barrage of gunfire slammed into the desk they were hiding behind. Moodley poked her head out, and saw that around fifteen more EXALT soldiers had entered the fight. They had all fanned out, except for a Heavy, who was busy suppressing Abzug and Moodley.

Moodley motioned for Abzug to remain low, and looked around to find anything that could safely get them out. Waters and the others were busy dealing with the new contacts, while Shi was calling out for a resupply over the comms. Clearly, there would be no outside help.

Before she could continue looking, Abzug yelped.

"Grenade!" he cried. Moodley turned, and saw the pineapple explosive sail over the table.

The field medic moved quickly, pushing Abzug out of the way. The German rolled, landing behind another set of computers, while Moodley landed in the middle of the room.

The explosive went off, showering her in wood chips. The Heavy, meanwhile, had realized his prey had escaped, and began repositioning.

"Come on!" Abzug yelled, reaching for Moodley.

She ran, moving as fast as she could towards safety. She leaped, just as soon as the Heavy opened fire.

She wasn't fast enough. Three bullets smashed into her thigh, sending her leg nerves into a frenzy.

"Fuck!" she cried, before sailing into Abzug. The German caught her, and moved her deeper into cover.

As Moodley recovered, she looked up to see Abzug unlooping a medikit from her belt with graceful ease. He turned and pointed it at Moodley's leg.

"Now, you should cool it," he said, and went to work.

* * *

"Where is that MEC of yours? Picking flowers?!" yelled Jäger. The latest group of contacts had proven more experienced than the two squads that XCOM had tackled. Currently, Abzug and Moodley were stranded at one corner of the room, while Jäger, Panzer, and Bill were stuck in another.

Bill shrugged. He had sent Lcpl. Laureano back, since the MEC would have attracted the rest of the EXALT forces. That decision was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Jäger looked at his comrade. He grasped Panzer's shoulder.

"You ready to run?" he asked. Panzer nodded, moving into a crouch. Bill looked on with interest.

"Go!" yelled Jäger. Before Bill could process that, Panzer was gone.

Several EXALT soldiers opened fire on him simultaneously. Bullets whizzed through the air, filling the room with hot lead. But, the man was fast, faster than even a Seeker. He had lightning reflexes, his body moving gracefully out of the way of the bullets. Shots pinged off of the walls and the floor, but Panzer was untouched.

Bill looked down to see Jäger looking back at him.

"Sprint and spray?" the man asked, almost conversationally.

"Run and gun," Bill replied, the creed of Assault troopers ringing in his head.

With that, the two moved, running towards the EXALT position.


	8. Elite Offense

Two EXALT operatives had been sent to guard the PCR room, on Austin's orders. One, an American, had lowered his bandana so he could smoke a cigarette.

"Jesus," said his partner. "Could you go do that someplace else?"

"Can't," he replied. "Gotta guard the PCR room. Can't really do much about the boredom."

"XCOM's up top," complained his compatriot. "I don't see any gun toting pigs running amok here. Do you?"

"XCOM ain't all we have to worry 'bout."

"I don't see any of those thin bastards either, if that's what you're talking about."

"Nah." The American operative exhaled, releasing a large puff of smoke. "Remember when the South American cell fell under?"

"I don't see how that's related to this at all."

"Well, don't want to shock your or nothin'." The man took another drag of his cigarette, then smashed it underneath an otherwise immaculate dress shoe. "Some of the boys we got from there say the only way their operation could've been taken out was from inside.

"They caught a garbled message sent from the base, and a few days later, an XCOM strike force landed on their asses."

"So you're saying we've got a mole? In the base?"

"I'm just saying you should keep your damn eyes open. Like right now." The American hefted his G36 assault rifle at an approaching figure. "Stay back and hands up. You know the pass?"

" _Juniper_ ," the figure said. The American operative squinted. From the shadows of the hallway, he could only make out the orange bandana and the dress clothes. No facial features were visible. He wasn't sure from the voice whether it was a man or a woman either.

"State your business," he continued, keeping his gun trained on the figure.

"Maintenance," it replied. "Commander sent me here to make sure the PCR system was still safe. He says he doesn't want a hacker taking out our systems."

"Sounds like something a hacker would say. "

"I blush. Now let me through."

The American stepped forward, the barrel of his gun aimed at the stranger's heart. "Now listen here, partner. I don't know what kind of authority you carry here, and I don't give a damn. We've got this place under lock – "  
The EXALT operative felt a burst of heat on his chest. He looked down. His orange tie was a smoking ruin, the white dress shirt replaced by a field of charred flesh.

"Jesus," he groaned, before falling backward onto the floor.

The other operative screamed, and brought his gun up. A bright red beam came from the figure's hand, slicing through the operative's arm. He screamed again, and fell down, grasping the wounded arm. The stranger moved forward, and the operative scooted against the door.

"Oh God! P-please don't kill me!" he pleaded. "I only joined for the suits man! You gotta believe me!"

The stranger pulled back the slide on its laser pistol and, ignoring the man's begging, shot him through the head.

"Don't we all?" the stranger mused. It pocketed its pistol, and input the code to the PCR room.

* * *

Red figured out something was wrong the moment the gunfire stopped.

He had been having fun, of all things. The rising tides of gunfire flooding the room, the rhythmic sounds of bullets hitting plaster or wood, all of it had been one glorious sound to his ears. The only time he had been in the middle of this much gunfire was when a deal for the Triad had gone wrong. And even that was small fry compared to this, this symphony.

Then, it had stopped. It didn't peter out, as guns did when they ran out of ammo. Instead, the gunfire had been stopped, abruptly.

Red checked his LMG, eagerly waiting to reload his clip and continue the fight. However, upon inspection, the ammo compartment wasn't empty. He checked the barrel, but no blockage was seen.

"Anyone else got a problem with their guns?" an EXALT medic chattered nervously over the comms.

"Same here!" cried another operative.

"What the fuck's going on? Stupid thing's not even jammed?"

A few other voices began to enter the comm network, impatiently voicing their own complaints, when the Commander's voice drowned them out.

"Attention EXALT units. The PCR system has been compromised. Base is telling us to do a manual reboot on our weapons. Get it done now."

While the other EXALTs scrambled to fix their own weaponry, Red was already done. Weeks under Ranger's command had turned him into the epitome of efficiency. Some would have called him a brown-noser, but he was simply someone who knew how to take orders, and how to get them done.

Red glanced over at his comrade, Bear, the Russian Heavy. Instead of rebooting his gun, he had a large black tube in his hands. Red recognized the sight of the APFD.

"Bear, what are you doing?" whispered Red. Bear only grunted and pulled, extending the black tube to reveal the enormous rocket launcher.

"Bear?" Red continued.

"The system does not affect this weapon, Red," Bear replied. "XCOM will not expect it." He stood, and fired the rocket.

* * *

"Incoming!" yelled Bill, as he saw the APFD's payload hurtling towards the XCOM team.

He and Panzer leaped to the side, but Jäger was too slow. From the corner of Bill's eye, he could see the black shape of the missile crash onto the carpeted floor at Jäger's feet, enveloping the German Assault in a cloud of smoke. Bill, gritting his teeth, landed near a computer terminal.

He rose to his feet, ears ringing from the explosion. He was about to see whether Jäger had made it, but a flash of blue caught his eye.

Jabbed into the side of a computer terminal was a black USB. An XCOM logo, proudly embossed in blue, flashed down at Bill.

"Are you going to keep staring at it?" said a voice.

Bill jumped and looked behind him. Jäger, battered, bruised, but still alive, gazed back at him. The man's armor was black with soot.

"How'd you make it out of that?!" Bill said to him.

Jäger shrugged. "Not important. EXALT weapons are disabled, and we need that data." Without waiting for an answer, Jäger stuck a black glove and yanked the USB out of the terminal. The hand retreated into a pouch somewhere in Jäger's armor, and the USB was gone.

Then, Jäger rose and shouted a command.

"XCOM! Fall back!"

* * *

During the lull that followed the explosion, Austin had run up to an entrenched group of EXALT. Five of them were still struggling to reboot their weapons, while three others crouched in a ready position. Austin recognized Bear, Red, and Gremlin.

Gremlin stood and saluted, a stocky military movement. Bear and Red simply nodded to Austin.

"Sir," Gremlin said. "XCOM is retreating. They've either accomplished their objective, or we've beaten them back."  
"Unlikely," said Bear, peering over the desks the operatives had used as cover. "We need to pursue them. We are not wounded, and we still outnumber them."

"And I still have this," Red added, motioning to the APFD strapped to his back.

"If we can still be sabotaged, I'm not going to risk it," Austin said. He looked over at the other operatives. "Is anyone here in contact with the base?"

"Sir!" one piped up. "Command is telling me they've secured the PCR room. They found two of ours dead, but they can confirm that the hacks have been stopped."

"Let us not waste time," barked Bear. "Come! We go!" The huge Russian leaped over the desks and sprinted, unafraid. The other operatives followed, with renewed confidence.

* * *

"Fuck," groaned Abzug, as he heard the footfalls behind him and Moodley. He stopped and fired off a shot before running again. Moodley turned her head to see a squad of EXALT emerging from the burning office. Abzug's shot had slammed into the concrete in front of them, but it only served to harden their resolve.

Moodley had been quite glad to get out of the office and back into open air. But that was the thing. The pavilion was too open, too exposed. The only cover was a small fountain and a few planters, nothing solid enough to stand against bullets for long. Not that squad Clover intended to make a stand. They had what they wanted, and they were getting the hell out of here.

Abzug turned around and fired off another shot. A scream rewarded the German infantryman, and he continued running, a smirk on his face.

Before the two could move any further, a few shots flew over their heads. Moodley ducked behind a stone planter, and lay low. Opposite of her, Abzug crouched by a park bench, his frame hunched to allow him a firing angle at the advancing EXALT.

"Lay some suppressing fire," Abzug whispered. "You'll corner force them together. I'll be like a firing range," he continued.

Moodley saw the genius in that plan. With suppressing fire, the EXALT operatives would be caught in a crossfire. They'd be too scared to move, and that would be when Abzug would strike.

Moodley stood, trusting in her phalanx armor to protect her from any serious wounds. A bullet sailed past her head as she brought up her beam rifle, looping her fingers around the grip. Then, without any effort at all, she fired, slamming her index finger against the cold metal of the trigger.

Red beams sailed across the pavilion, trapping the EXALT force. Meanwhile, Abzug had risen as well, his own beam rifle steadied to allow greater accuracy. His arms didn't shake as he snapped off two shots.

The beams sailed true, and soon two EXALT were lying dead on the concrete. Another was scrambling along the ground, keeping his profile low. It was an effective tactic, one that would have fooled anyone else. But Moodley had a sharp eye, and was enough of an opportunist to seize the moment.

She fired a group of shots at him, and he went flying. Red lines punched through his frame, until he landed in a boneless heap on top of a bench. Moodley turned to continue the fire, but the others had retreated while she had been distracted.

One, wearing a red backpack of some kind, rose a bit, speaking into a communicator. Garbled language crisscrossed in Moodley's own comms, masking the man's intent. The man then lifted a cylinder of some sort.

"Grenade!" Moodley yelled at Abzug, and the man nodded. He changed position, running low along the side of the planter.

Instead of tossing it at Abzug, however, the man threw it _at his feet_. Moodley winced, waiting for the explosion, but instead was greeted with a puff of purple smoke. _Idiot_ , she thought. _A bit too much adrenaline, eh?_

No sooner had she relaxed than another object came flying from the cloud. It rolled and landed by Abzug's cover before exploding.

The German flinched as bits of concrete bounced off of him. The wound on his shoulder had reopened, causing a stream of blood to run down his arm.

Moodley was about to call out to him when a stream of bullets flew out of the cloud. Several hit home, knocking into Abzug's chest and legs. Blood spurted from various entry wounds. His features disappeared as a spray of red emitted from his chest. Then, without even a curse, the German fell to the ground.

Moodley's vision blurred, and she stood. A mixture of anger and grief flowed through her, crying out to the man, a man she had only met a several minutes ago. Even if he was a jackass, even though they had met for only a few minutes, he was still a squadmate. And that meant something.

The field medic raised her beam rifle and emptied her clip into the purple cloud, a soundless note of rage stuck in her throat.

* * *

As Newton's third law states, there are equal and opposite reactions to everything. Throwing smoke is no different.

On the positive side, the enemy can't see you, and they become less accurate. On the negative side, you can't see the enemy either.

That's a little thing Bear learned as a freight train of red light slammed into him. The Russian, who made out to be an invincible god of war, fell over like a rotted wooden pillar. Austin watched in dull horror, time slowing down to milliseconds. The light looked so harmless, so dainty in the purple smoke, like a lightshow at a movie premiere. Yet the smell of burnt flesh and the gouts of blood shooting into the air belied the deadly force that had struck Bear.

The Russian did a somersault, and fell onto the floor, never to move again.

Several more beams flew through the smoke, shattering stone and pavement. Austin, Red, and the other three EXALT operatives crouched low, while Austin tallied the losses in his head.

 _Hypnos, Reaper, Gremlin, and now Bear_. His military mind counted them as easily as one would count dominoes. Setting up the ones that were still alive, and knocking the rest into the bin.

He stared over across the pavilion. The place was almost silent, besides the petering laser fire. Bodies were strewn across the ground. Gremlin lay, his body splayed across a bench.

Then his gaze swept over the others. The other EXALT operatives still under his command. He saw them, saw the uncertainty and fear in their eyes as they continued on. He weighed the options in his mind.

 _I should leave this. They've got what they came for_ , he thought.

 _But do you have what you came for?_ came a voice from his paternal mind. _If they live, this goes down. If they live, you won't find a cure._

 _If they live, Samantha dies._

Austin stood, and surveyed the scene again. Now, he wanted to make them pay, dammit. Wanted to show them what it felt like to lose one of your own. Wanted to give them hell for interfering with his goal.

"Sir, should we… retreat?"

Austin looked down, at the operative who had said that. The man gazed back at him, his bandana unrolled. Soot and dirt marred his features, and his white dress shirt was festooned with holes and tears.

It was a pathetic sight, and Austin knew that it applied to everyone else. Hell, even he must have looked like shit. He realized he had pushed them enough. There would be better ways, more ways to figure out this mess. Ways that wouldn't throw more bodies to the meat grinder.

Austin was about to reply to the man, when he heard a sound. It was methodical, and mechanical, a ticking metronome.

The smoke dissipated, and Austin looked to see an abomination staring back at him. It was at least seven feet tall, a hulking machine with eyes glowing with hellfire. Decals and markings covered its arms, while a large XCOM logo was stamped on its chest.

The man who had spoken to Austin turned and saw it, his mouth transforming from a grimace to an enormous _O_.

The machine raised an arm, and Austin realized he didn't have to worry about the meat grinder anymore.

This thing had brought a barbecue instead.

Everywhere one looked, there was hell. Austin and Red leaped aside as flames engulfed their position. The poor fool who had been standing in front of the MEC finally let out his scream, a wordless noise more akin to animals than human beings. He gibbered, flames dancing along his back like cruel jesters, before collapsing. Another stumbled, falling to his knees before hitting the ground, like a casually discarded cigarette.

"I didn't sign up for this!" screamed the final EXALT operative. He ripped off his flaming vest, and bolted for the office doors. His gun clattered to the ground as he made his escape.

Red got to his feet and immediately fired, letting out a salvo of fire. Bullets pinged off of the Lcpl. Laureano's chassis. He turned, and swatted aside the Chinese operative.

Austin looked on as Red flew into a wall. He raised his rifle, only for it to be batted aside by another giant fist. Then, before he could move, Laureano grabbed him, wrapping an arm around Austin's waist.

The MEC trooper ran away, carrying Austin in tow. The disgraced EXALT commander didn't even protest.

* * *

Panzer strapped Abzug's body into one of the seats on the Skyranger, as the craft's pilot, Big Sky, checked his vitals.

"He'll be fine," Big Sky said, his voice a calm Southern twang. "Good thing you had that medikit left, Ms. Moodley."

Sgt. Moodley nodded, taking her seat in the Skyranger. A tired smile appeared on her face.

Bill turned to Jäger. "So, we'll be taking care of your man?"

The German nodded. "We have our own transportation back to XCOM Asia. Hopefully your Commander won't mind the _burden_."  
Bill grinned. "No worries, partner. We've taken worse."

The sound of servos and breaking concrete caused Bill to turn.

"And look who's arrived late to the party!" Bill turned to greet Lcpl. Laureano.

Laureano took off his helmet, revealing a large grin. "Had to stop by and grab a gift," he said, his voice normal without the helmet's robotic voice filters. Unceremoniously, he deposited an EXALT operative on the ground. The man groaned and rolled facedown.

Moodley recognized him. "He's the one who was giving orders to the rest of them," she said.  
Jäger stooped low, leering over the unconscious EXALT. "Really? We haven't seen any evidence of a chain of command in EXALT cells."

"Why so?" said Cpl. Shi.

"Well… Usually because we kill them all," Panzer said. He shrugged.

Jäger grabbed the EXALT agent by the scruff of his neck. The man's head hung low, hiding his features from the rest of the XCOM squad.

"Squad Jaeger thanks you for your efforts, Lcpl. Laureano," Jäger said, addressing the MEC trooper. "Clearly, I underestimated your effectiveness. I'll be sure to put a word in to your Commander."

Laureano continued grinning, a light-hearted, sincere thing.

"We'll be taking _this_ ," Jäger continued, putting the EXALT soldier on his feet. "Perhaps in exchange for allowing you to take care of our comrade."

"Seems fair," Bill said. "XCOM Asia will hold onto the information?"

Jäger nodded. "It's protocol."  
"I'd hate to interrupt," said Big Sky. "But we're burning daylight, and I don't want to see my plane on any European news websites."

Bill nodded, and squad Clover packed into the Skyranger. Laureano nestled his mechanical frame into one seat, while Shi took the one opposite of him. Bill climbed the ramp, and motioned for Big Sky to hit the pilot seat.

As the ramp on the Skyranger lifted upward, Bill looked at the two members of Squad Jaeger.

"Think we'll see each other again?" Bill shouted over the growing roar of the Skyranger's engines.

Jäger's helmet shook, as if in laughter. "I doubt it." The ramp closed.

* * *

 **RECORDING OF PSYCH REPORT ON: PFC [REDACTED] "JÄGER" [REDACTED]**

 **Conducted by XCOM Asia Scientific Staff and Recruitment Officers**

 **Note: For the sake of discretion, all members will be referred to by callsign.**

 **Cpl. Beagle:** Well, PFC [redacted], it's good to meet you. I'm [redacted]. But please, call me Beagle.

 **PFC Jäger:** Then call me Jäger.

 **Cpl. Beagle:** Jäger. Alright, first of all, your country's military officials have found you adequate to join the XCOM Project. However, you have yet to convince me of that.

 **PFC Jäger:** You were on "Operation: Hot Mother", yes?

 **Cpl. Beagle:** Indeed. [The recording catches a muttered statement. It can only make out the words "[expletive] naming guy"] Terror Mission in Hamburg, Germany.

 **PFC Jäger:** I was on the Hamburg police force, along with my two comrades. We were on duty when the city was attacked.

[There is a pause]

 **PFC Jäger:** We established a cordon in the northernmost part of the city. Your XCOM forces landed in the south to engage the invaders' flank. We took on the brunt of the initial assault before you arrived. It was like one of your American horror films. I've heard some of your veterans refer to the operation as the "Day of the Dead."

 **Cpl. Beagle:** We believe the aliens were testing a new terror tactic. It was true that the invading force consisted mostly of Chryssalids and… zombies.

 **PFC Jäger:** How many did your team kill, Corporal?

 **Cpl. Beagle:** Captain Vesmo tallied over fifteen confirmed Chryssalid kills, and twenty dead, uh, zombies.

 **PFC Jäger:** Originally, there were forty-five "'lids", as your men call them. And twelve of those zombies were my men.


	9. Outside Events

As a black helicopter made its way across Eastern Europe, two different men were trapped in two different hells.

Austin Brown, ex-EXALT Commander, lay strapped onto a hospital bed in a helicopter. He nearly thought he was starting it all over again, back in the helicopter.

"Hey Hawk, how are you doin'?" he croaked, whispering to the dark figure to his right. The figure twitched, and cocked its head forward towards another person on Austin's left side.  
"Knock him out again," said the other figure. Figure number one nodded, and produced a grey device. Austin turned when he heard the humming, and was knocked back into dreamland.

Not that dreams proved to be any refuge for Austin. His subconscious dragged him into hell, where flames jumped and crackled at his feet, carving demonic smiles into the ground below him. He saw his daughter standing ignorantly in front of that… thing. She was reenacting her rescue from the hospital, standing up unsteadily, putting on her brave face, seeing daddy coming to save her.

But oh no, daddy wasn't coming. The thing didn't like that, so it stuck its arms out and grabbed her. Metal turned to red as fire curled out of the thing's hands, hungrily grasping Samantha. Austin could only stand frozen, as his daughter's face melted into a scream, watching the flesh slough off of her body as the fire claimed its stake.

 _Daddy wasn't coming, daddy couldn't come because daddy's a goddamned coward_ whispered the thing. And despite the pain, Samantha nodded, shaking off more droplets of flesh and blood.

Austin would see his daughter burn at least fifty times during the time he was knocked out.

As for our other contestant in dreamland, Jäger was a bit harder to understand. Our helmeted friend was sleepy, his eyelids were drooping, shuttering over his eyes like a broken camera. When his eyes finally closed, sealed shut like coffin lids, Jäger revisited an old friend.

What images that Jäger's mind could make out were discordant, a tapestry of horror too unreal for the soldier's mind to comprehend in a coherent way. Anyone peering into his skull would have seen flashes of a young man, blond hair mashed under a police cap, streaks of purple, and the shriek of something ungodly cutting its way through wet flesh.

Yes, hell had two busy occupants tonight.

* * *

"You ran?" scoffed the woman lying opposite of Bill. One of her arms was draped across his bare shoulder.

"Jess, it wasn't that simple," Bill replied.

"Obviously," Jessie replied. "You just got outmuscled by that German hunk, didn'tcha? Maybe I ought to open up a transfer for XCOM Asia instead."

"I didn't even see his face, Jess."

"I never see Gabriel's face, but that doesn't mean he's nothing to spit at either."

Bill scooted up to the Australian sniper. "Hey, I got them out with no casualties. My first command. Don't I get a kiss for that?"

Jessie smiled.

"Y'know, the Colonel made a bet you'd get your ass handed to you."

"How much?"

"Five weeks kitchen duty."

"Guess the Colonel's got a lot of scrubbing to do."

"But do you wanna know who bet for you?"

"Who, Rahmani?"

"Nah, it was the other sniper, Shi."

Bill laughed at the thought. Shi wasn't one to his neck out for anyone, especially when the odds were stacked. Bill's laughter quieted when he realized that he had been unprepared for that op. He'd sent the MEC on too long of a flanking route, and Lcpl. Laureano had only arrived after Abzug had taken several slugs to the chest. The German Infantryman was now cooling his heels in the Medbay, but it was still a close call.

"Are you done? May as well wake up the Commander with all the noise you're making," Jessie said, smiling.

"Darling, the Commander never sleeps."

"Har har. What does he do, spend all day staring at the hologlobe?"

"News flash, fucking aliens invaded. Anything else seems possible. Like me getting a kiss?"

Jessie pushed Bill away from her. "Bring me back a live muton, and then we'll see."

The sniper turned, and shut off the lights. Bill smiled as the darkness overtook them, and went to sleep.

* * *

"Pardon me?" said XCOM Asia's Central Officer, Callum Lewin. The forty five year old British navy officer wiped his forehead, while the shadowy figure of the Council representative loomed over him.

"It is imperative, Central Officer Lewin, that after the… revelations made by XCOM Europe, this… EXALT Leader must be taken in for questioning."

"My apologies, representative, but we've had Jaeger squadron working on this case since May! They've already proved adept enough to prove the existence of a central base, as well as put down several possible locations."

"Adept they may be, but having the EXALT Leader in your care only jeopardizes the safety and secrecy of XCOM operations. The Council will be able to offer better… security. It is within our power to obscure the identity of our… subject from the public, and to better hinder any attempts to… recapture him," replied the representative in an even monotone. Lewin turned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite being the funding body of XCOM, the Council could be as bothersome as a pod of floaters when they bothered to do anything. First the recent asset recovery mission, and now _this_.

"Central, while your protest is understandable, the Council is final on its decision," said the Council representative. The bald, poorly lit figure folded his hands over his desk. "Expect a company of UN soldiers to be arriving at any minute. We hope you will… accommodate them."

The screen flickered, and then went out as the Council cut the connection.

"Transmission ended, sir," said a green-shirted tech.

"Thank you, Mr. Nguyen," Lewin said. He turned and walked out of the mission center.

In Mission Control, Lewin found the two men he expected. Tsgt. Jäger and Sgt. Panzer stood in front of the hologlobe. The calm, blue glow only served to highlight the dissatisfied features on the faces of the German commandoes.

It was a rare occasion when Jäger went unmasked, but the Tsgt. still managed to command respect from old officers like Lewin. Even if he didn't have the scars to remind people of his ability, the former police officer's face was beautiful, in a spartan, utilitarian way. Lewin swore that the man carried royal blood within him, and that in another life, he would have been in charge of the XCOM Project entirely.

"Tech Sergeant, Sergeant," Lewin said. The two soldiers nodded at him.

"We heard," said Panzer. "And we won't interfere."

"Glad to hear, gentlemen," Lewin said. "And Siegfried, have hope. We'll find the bastard's bloody base, and that'll show the Council."

Jäger gave tilted his head sideways, but kept his expression neutral. "I'm quite sure of that, Central. Let us hope that the Council makes headway as well."

"Central Officer Lewin, please report to the XCOM entrance," blared a digitized female voice from the speakers above.

"That's my cue," he said. "Gentlemen, you both have a week's leave from duty. Enough time to read up on the latest EXALT intel."

"Got it, boss," Panzer said. The two Germans left, while Lewin walked through the XCOM base to the blast doors that marked the entrance to XCOM Asia's base of operations.

Said blast doors were already open, revealing the extensive cave network that the base had been built in. An immense draft was already roaring its way through the new hole, curling around Lewin and chilling him despite the XCOM brand sweater he wore.

 _Damn sweaters_ , he thought. _Who the hell would wear one of these things on a daily basis?_

Following the draft was the UN convoy. Lewin wasn't impressed with the show. Years of military experience had shown him far flashier and more imposing displays of force. But then again, it was the UN he was dealing with.

A bald man, who Lewin assumed was the UN commander, stepped out of a military jeep at the head of the convoy. The man was clearly taken by the sight of the XCOM base, based off the way his eyes moved throughout the current facility like a child in a toy store. Lewin felt a bit sad that he wouldn't be able to show the outsider the rest of the base. He'd likely go gaga over the armory XCOM kept.

The man approached the Central Officer. "General Peter Van Doorn, UN peacekeeping forces," he said, a wide smile on his face. With a covert glance, he added: "Off the record, you guys are incredible. I've never seen gear like _that_ before."

Lewin smiled as well. The man's positivity was infectious. "Compliment noted, Gen. Van Doorn. You've come for the prisoner transfer?"

"Yes sir. I've got orders to take the prisoner for questioning at a secure UN facility."

"Any chance I could know what facility that is?"

Van Doorn shook his head. "Apologies, sir, but I also have orders to keep it under wraps. Can't be too careful these days."

"Alright then. Help yourself." Lewin looked back and nodded to the entourage behind him. After a bit of activity, two base personnel walked forward, the prisoner between them.

When the EXALT leader had been brought on base, Lewin couldn't bring up an image of a more pathetic person. He expected a more… intense image from the leader of a terrorist organization. Instead, the man was a boneless heap, singed in several places. The orange prison jumper he wore now only served to diminish his appearance.

The exchange was brief, and after the prisoner was secured in the General's vehicle, Van Doorn nodded at Lewin.

"Godspeed to your operations, sir," he said.

"Same to you, Mr. Van Doorn."

* * *

"What?!"

Those were the words that came from the General's mouth as he confronted Alpha at her desk. The normally impassive features of the General were split open, as if someone had set off a dynamite charge inside his skull.

"They've captured Brown?! How?"

Alpha pushed the lid of her laptop down. "A combination of bad luck and misinformation. Our contacts failed to let us know that XCOM would be sending _two_ separate tactical teams. Along with the fact that XCOM has figured out biomechanical engineering."

The General placed a meaty hand against his face. "What's the status of the German cell?"

"The base commander has taken de facto control," Alpha said. "By 0500 hours, German time, the GenTech institution will be raided by German police forces. There, they will find nothing but an empty laboratory, and several computers wiped of data."

"Casualties?"

"None of our major players have been wiped out, if that's your concern."

The General sighed, a great breath that heaved his massive shoulders. Once upon a time he had been part of the UN, but an upstart had sidelined him, knocking him to the dirt with a group that was on the losing side of another war.

"Are you taking your medication?" Alpha asked, leaning forward.

"No," the General admitted.

"You may have an aneurism at this rate, dear," she continued.

"The aneurism can go fuck itself. I've got bigger things to worry about."

Alpha smiled, a tight affair with pursed lips. "I do have some good news."

"That is?" The General looked up.

"Our new friends," Alpha began. "Have been gracious enough to loan us some support. Apparently our goals collide with theirs, which involve the death of a certain UN official who has Brown in custody."

"Is that all?"

"Recent transmissions have been clouded, but we've received the name 'Doorn' in relation to this operation. Recognize it?"

The General snapped. In one movement he snagged Alpha's forearm in his hand, plucking it from the air. His breathing slowed, and a vein began to bulge on his forehead.

"Ah, you do!" Alpha preened, ignoring the growing pressure on her arm. He could break it, for all she cared. A broken arm couldn't hold back the things in motion.

"That little… He'll be there?"

"I'm absolutely positive."

The General let go, easing up the pressure on Alpha's arm. Suddenly, he began chuckling, a low, malevolent hum that grew into full-blown laughter.

"Perfect! Just…"

"Indeed. The results of the operation should be back in the next ten hours. I recommend you take your medication and rest, dear. The coming events will not be kind to the unprepared."

The General grabbed both of Alpha's arms, but instead of a crushing vice of a grip, he used a slow, caressing touch.

"Thank you, hun. Just what I needed. And, I'm sorry for your arm."

This time, Alpha laughed.

"There's no need to be sorry, Iago. An arm would be worth it to see our dream come true. Go, get ready."

* * *

 **XCOM EUROPE PSYCH REPORT ON: CPL [REDACTED] "JÄGER" [REDACTED]**

 **Conducted by Doctor Richard Tao from XCOM Europe at the request of** **Doctor Anika Deshpande; XCOM Asia**

The subject known as "Jäger" is quite an interesting case. At first glance, I thought there was a mistake. The man shows no outward signs of PTSD, or any other psychological trauma. Even under intense questioning and therapy, no obvious symptoms presented themselves.

It was only at your insistence, Dr. Deshpande, that I set up an observation on Cpl. Jäger's temporary barracks. Surprisingly, you proved right for once. Cpl. Jäger displayed classic symptoms of night terrors, which consist of autonomic arousal responses. My diagnosis would be a severe form of PTSD, although how the man is able to suppress his trauma during the day is unknown to me.

Which, is a problem. Cpl. Jäger's astounding willpower does provide a short-term benefit, but it could prove disastrous in the long run. Even a man as mentally solid as Cpl. Jäger will eventually break down; it's only a matter of time. In a few months, you could end up with, at best, a nervous wreck, or at worst, a legitimate danger to every occupant of XCOM Asia.

My only recommendation is intense observation and immediately relieving Cpl. Jäger of field duty. He is too much of a liability to his fellow squadmates, and contact with the invaders could degrade his mental state further, especially given that the alien "Sectoids" our troopers engage in combat with can induce paranoia and fear through unknown means.

I see no other alternative. If the Commander wishes, then we can dismiss Cpl. Jäger altogether. It may be for the best, since German mental care may be able to devote more resources to him than we can.

\- Dr. Richard Tao


	10. A Friendly Perspective

Private Friendly was in a friendly mood. Glenn "Friendly" Williams had always been one hell of an amiable guy. Great at parties, seminars, and covert operations. It was physically impossible for him to hold a grudge. In fact, Private Friendly had an amazing affinity for relationships. He was likeable to subordinates, superiors, and everything in between, and a pretty competent soldier to boot. After only five months since the alleged alien crisis, Friendly was now the personal aid of General Peter Van Doorn.

Such was the ability of Friendly that even when a convicted criminal and possible terrorist sat a mere foot away from in a military vehicle, he had no hesitation to talk with him.

"Hey there, partner," he said.

The prisoner glanced up, and then let his head hang limp again.

Friendly tried to speak up again, but his partner, who sat next to the prisoner, gave him a warning glare.

"Don't bother, Glenn," Pvt. Hughes said. "Do you think he'll just spill his whole life's story to you?"

"Just trying to be friendly," Private Friendly replied.

"Yeah, you keep doing that. Don't know why you'd waste your breath on this terrorist piece of shit."

"Give him a break, Hughes," came a voice from the driver's seat. Hughes and Friendly turned to see the bald visage of Peter Van Doorn, four-star UN general, staring back at them.

"Sometimes you can't get in the way of a man and his conversation," Van Doorn said. "Especially this man."

"Just letting him save energy is all," Hughes muttered, low enough so that the general wouldn't hear. "Besides, he won't be with us long. He's got a nice, cozy cell in back at HQ for him to stew in. Right?"

Hughes nudged the prisoner with the butt of his gun. When he didn't get a response, he grumbled and turned to face the window.

"How's the family, Hughes?" Friendly asked, trying to revive the conversation.

"We're doing well. Just sent back the latest paycheck, and we've got enough to cover our new life insurance expenses."

"New life insurance? A bit of a risk there."  
"Nah, these guys are legit. They've got good deals," Hughes said, an eager tone in his voice. "Got a nice nest egg to keep my kids in school if something happens to me. Wacky name, though. They're called –"

A tremor occurred, shaking the vehicle and its occupants.

"What the fuck?!" Hughes said, craning his head towards the driver's seat.

"Son of a –" Van Doorn said. "Cpl. Jamal," he continued. "The hell is going on out there?"  
The driver turned back towards the general. "Some kind of car accident. Whole convoy's been ordered to halt."

Hughes turned to Friendly. "We gotta check it out. Scope the perimeter."

Friendly nodded, checking the safety on his M16 rifle before moving to open the door. With a pull, he disengaged the safety latch and opened it, letting the open air drift into the compartment. The driver and Van Doorn did the same.

"Stay inside, Glenn," Van Doorn said. "Guard the prisoner. We'll go outside." Friendly almost protested, his instinctive urge to protect the general tugging at his stomach, but he knew it was better to follow orders. Who else would Van Doorn trust to guard such a high profile prisoner? He nodded in return.

While Van Doorn and Jamal walked outside, Hughes took a few tentative steps, his rifle trained on the horizon. Besides the gouts of smoke coming from the accident a few meters ahead, the area was clear. Almost idyllic, a normal summer afternoon.

"My God," Van Doorn whispered, his voice snatched by whatever carnage he was viewing outside. "What happened?" he shouted.

"Sir!" came a voice from further down the convoy. "We've lost the lead vehicle. Some kind of roadside bomb."

"Hughes, stay with Glenn. We'll check it out," Van Doorn ordered.

"Yessir!" Hughes said. Van Doorn and the other soldier left. Afterward, the next few minutes were silent, besides the indistinct chatter over the vehicle's radio. However, it was soon broken.

"Hey, who the hell are you?" Hughes yelled, pointing his gun at something beyond Friendly's vision.

"Identify yourself!" he screamed. Now, the man's voice was bordering on panicked. Something out there was unnerving him.

Before Friendly could ask his partner anything, another explosion rattled the environment. Hughes was sent flying, the rumble sending him off the side. Up ahead, Friendly could hear a few dozen car alarms going off in a horrendous cacophony, while the screams of the injured filled the air.

"Contact!" someone shouted. Friendly heard several guns being drawn.

The next few moments were punctuated by the sounds of gunfire, which was eventually drowned out by explosions. The hum of a liquid substance splattered against the concrete, while a hissing sounded from the cars front. Friendly thought it was the sound of a car tire losing air.

"Jesus, what is going _on_ out there?" Friendly asked. He turned his head, a lazy motion, to the open car door, and gasped.

Staring at him with undivided attention was a man. He wore a neat suit, a red tie, and a pair of black glasses. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a lawyer. But Friendly knew that no lawyer, and no human being for that matter, was that thin or long.

"Freak!" Friendly raised his gun, but the mysterious intruder was faster. With a short hiss, like a villain in a cartoon, the creature threw itself at Friendly. An arm, which resembled more of a whip rather than muscle, wrapped around Friendly's weapon, tearing it from his grasp. Another arm punched him. To Friendly's disbelief and pain, the stringy appendage hit like a professional boxer, blurring his vision.

As Friendly lay on the floor, knocked senseless, he saw another figure come in from the corner of his eye. This one appeared more human than the long, lanky thing invading the car, but it was a blurry silhouette in his vision. Before he went out cold, the human silhouette grabbed the prisoner, his orange jumpsuit flashing in front of Friendly's eyes before the soldier succumbed to unconsciousness.

 _Van Doorn_ , his mind murmured blearily. _Gotta… warn…_

* * *

The fumes in Friendly's nose brought him back into the land of the living. Private Friendly opened his eyes, and squirmed his way out of the car. There, he found that the interstate highway he and his squad had been traveling on had been bombed to slag.

Fires burned amid the piles of wrecked vehicles. Chunks of concrete jutted from the highway, while sections of it were completely collapsed. The whole affair was silent, with nary a soul to be seen. Against it all was the blood red rays of the sunset, painting the whole scene an unsettling shade.

"Hughes?" Friendly yelled. Van Doorn? Anyone?!"

No response came back. Only the crackling of the flames answered back, a steady, ominous sound.

Then, something. The light patter of gunfire. Not a full automatic, but likely small arms. Still, it was something.

Friendly sprinted past the skeletons of a few cars, and ducked by a concrete barricade by what appeared to be a two-car pileup. The gunfire had ended, allowing silence to creep once more onto the battlefield.

"Van Doorn!" Friendly called out, taking a risk by giving away his position. "General Peter Van Doorn?!"

Feet pattered from the opposite side of the concrete barricade. Friendly rose, hoping to find a friendly face. Instead, his hopes were dashed as he saw the telltale glimmer of a pair of black shades.

Smack. Friendly went flying again. He landed against the door of a yellow cab, dazed as his thin assailant stood over him. It cradled a silver object in its arms, the crackle of green running along it. The attacker smiled with its thin, bloodless lips, before hefting the object against Friendly's head. Friendly closed his eyes, the only regret he held being his failure to protect his commander.

Before Friendly's premature end could be placed into effect, a red light shot across the highway. The beam sliced through the thing's head, cutting it into two like a loaf of bread. The lobotomized Thin Man went flying, legs flopping across the roof of the cab before the body settled on the opposite side. A spurt of green and blue gas exploded.

"Hey, we got a live one!" came a shout. Before Friendly knew it, he was surrounded by a squad of soldiers.

There were five of them, wearing helmets. Each one wore a gleaming, silvery armor, straight from video games. The weapons they held also reinforced that image, black, sleek guns with red lines running along the length of them.

"I'm a friendly," Private Friendly said, raising his hands. "You're the team here to get Van Doorn, right?"

Two of the soldiers looked at each other, as if in surprise, before one of them shrugged and said: "Yeah. Him."

A wave of relief washed across Private Friendly. Then, he fainted.

 **XCOM AFTER ACTION REPORT IN: WALES, UK**

 **OPERATION COLD PROPHET**

Personnel on sight:

39 Civilians (25 KIA; 10 MIA)

40 UN Combat Personnel (38 KIA)

25 UN Noncombat Personnel (25 KIA)

XCOM Personnel Onsite:

Sgt. Bill "Remus" Waters

Tsgt. Jessie "Snapster" Brown

Spec. Melchior Garand

Lcpl. Jayden Laureano

Sgt. David "Toon" Lee

Cpl. Anita "Colonel" Tatyana

Cpl. Sún "Zero" Shi

Artifacts Recovered:  
36 Weapon Fragments

25 Thin Men corpses

2 Alien Alloys

1 Elerium

Equipment Expended:  
2 Sets of Carpace Armor

1 Set of Phalanx Armor

2 Rockets

1 Rocket ("Shredder" variety)

3 Battle Scanners

Note #1: The target of today's op, one Gen. Peter Van Doorn of UN Joint Military Operations, has expressed interest in joining the XCOM Project along with his personal aid, one Pvt. Glenn Williams. Pending your approval, Central and I can fulfill the proper paperwork and accept the newly minted Lcpl. Van Doorn and Spec. Williams into our corps.

Note #2: Field promotions. I would recommend an immediate promotion of Lcpl. Laureano to Cpl. The MEC trooper has displayed extreme competence in the field, and with even more training, can be an even more formidable asset. I have also consulted with several experienced members of the Officers Corp., and we have agreed to promote Sgt. Waters to Lieutenant 1 rank. On your approval, of course. Sgt. Waters has shown an ability to command and efficiently dispatch threats, traits we in the Officer's Corp. deem perfect for a promotion.

\- Maj. Olivia "Haze" Pettachi


	11. Recovering and Regrouping

"Operator Nzambi?" said one of soldiers at the computer banks.

"Yes?" The Congo native, face obscured with EXALT's characteristic orange bandana, strode over to the grunt.

"Here's the latest from satellite imaging," the man said, handing Nzambi a few photos. Nzambi stared, a grimace forming as he saw the shape the photos made out.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he said, slapping the photos onto the man's desk. "Did we at least secure the target?"

The man nodded. "He's being transported to our cell."

Nzambi sighed. At least one thing got accomplished, and the General's wrath would be mitigated a bit. But who knew how long EXALT's luck would hold?

As one of his operatives left her station, he turned to her.

"Operator Claymore, where the hell are you going?"

The woman turned, her indignant eyes glaring from her masked face.

"The Commander has a daughter. I promised to update them when we got info."

Nzambi placed a hand on his forehead and waved her off. After the agent left, he slapped the other man on the shoulder.

"Good work. I'm heading to the rec center."

Nzambi left the computer bank, his mind turned toward something tall, cold, and frothy.

* * *

"Mmhmm, yeah," she said, the payphone's receiver perched casually on her shoulder.

"Yeah. I'll tell her. We'll find a safe house by evening. He can Skype her then. Thanks."

The EXALT base commander slid the phone back into its cold, stiff slot, and walked out of the booth. She breathed in, letting the morning air push enter her mouth.

EXALT's contingency plan stood ahead of her, currently being filled full of gas. The commander would have preferred a plane or a convoy of motorcycles. But hey, if the Cortex gave you a motorhome, you rolled with the motorhome.

Three of the things, rusted, bleached whales tanning in the morning sun, sat, their massive chassis taking up most of the parking space in the gas station. Several operators, unmasked and wearing insulated jackets, patrolled the area, small arms concealed beneath their clothing.

The commander met up with Cipher, who had just walked out of the gas station.

"Are we ready to go?" she said.

"Yes. I've paid for the gas. Once Hex finishes pumping, we'll be heading to the hotel."

The two walked towards the mobile homes, before Cipher spoke up again.

"Why are we using the damn things again?" he replied, his Polish accent dripping with disgust. "The Cortex could have come up with something more… dignified."

"The vehicles blend in. The last people anyone'd suspect would be a group of dopey retirees living in mobile homes."

"Even though we're officially a terrorist cell?"

"Cipher, we could be a group of fucking vampires, and no one would bat an eye at us."

Cipher sighed. "I suppose the benefits do outweigh the deficits."

"Aye. Still, better you complaining than Asclepius. Stupid fucker kept bitching about having enough room for his research."

Cipher laughed. "Predictable." The two continued walking, and then separated as they moved towards their respective mobile home.

The base commander opened the grungy, dirt-covered door, her fingers obscuring the neon yellow "Used" sticker on the side of the door. A blast of warm air hit her, wiping the German winter from her body.

She closed the door, sealing herself in the stuffy motor home. The inside was a mess. Every window was blacked out, and the lights blazed. Stacks of takeout food, fast food packages, and napkins took up most of the space in the dining cabin. A few laptops, screensavers changing pictures every hour or so, were clustered in one corner.

This dumpster had been home for the last few days. For the commander, it was no different from the EXALT base. It was cramped, disordered, and crammed full of tech geeks.

Most of the commander's entourage was still sleeping in the rooms behind the dining cabin. The only other person in this area was a girl, curled up against her seat with a blanket wrapped around her. A bottle labeled with the words Heparin in big, blocky letters sat on the table in front of her.

"Samantha?" the commander said, looking at the girl.

The daughter of EXALT's former field commander stirred. Her eyelids shuttered open, revealing the deep blue eyes that turned to stare at the base commander.

"Hey," Samantha said, a short, halting phrase. The commander walked up to her, and saw the black spots under her eyes.

"Haven't been sleeping?" the commander asked.

"Just from the medicine," Samantha reassured her. "I'll get over it."

"You sure?"

"Yes."  
The commander sat down on the table. The girl, Brown's daughter, was supposed to be 19. The commander felt like she should have some kinship bond with her. Why, she herself was only just breaking out of her twenties, caught between vibrant youth and decaying adulthood.

Before Samantha, EXALT hosted two kinds of woman. One kind was a group of old biddies, grey haired women who preferred to push the grunts around with the tips of their polished nails. The other was a bunch of jumped up psychopaths, eager to take it up with "the Man" or some other new age bullshit.

The base commander liked it that Samantha had a sane head on her shoulders. Even during the evacuation, the girl had kept still when Asclepius and his orderlies hustled her upstairs on a gurney. She had her dad's resilience, that was for sure. She would have made a damn fine operative.

 _Still_ , the commander thought. _Everyone's got a breaking point_. The girl might be reaching hers.

"I've got some good news, Samantha," the base commander said.

"What is it?"

"Well," the base commander said. "We're going to be at the hotel in a bit. Just a few more hours of suffering in this camper van."

" _Whoopee_."

"And…" She paused for effect. Samantha rolled her eyes. The base commander continued.

"You're father's back."

The base commander saw the response she expected. There wasn't any eye widening, or some leap of joy. Things like this were subtle. At first glance, it looked like Samantha was pretty stoic in the face of this news. But the commander saw the relaxed muscles behind her eyebrows, the slow disappearance of the furrows that crowned the girl's forehead. She was away from the breaking point, for now.

"Glad to hear it," Samantha said. "Is he meeting us there?"

"I'm not certain," the commander said. "HQ is still figuring out what to do. It's all very sudden."

"Either that or you're not supposed to tell me anything."

The base commander tensed, and relaxed when Samantha smiled.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to push for anything. As long as dad's okay, I'll be fine."

The commander nodded, satisfied that the girl wasn't being stubborn. She got up, and left the dinner cabin. When she looked behind her, the girl was huddled in her blanket again, a smile on her mouth and sleep in her eyes.

Was this really like being back on base?

Five minutes later, the group was back on the road. The base commander walked to the front, into the somewhat spacious interior of the driver's area. Inside, she encountered two of Austin "Ranger" Brown's ops team.

The South African sniper, Amandla, sat, his eyes scanning the large road map of Germany that sat in his lap. To the commander's left, the French soldier called Viper leaned over the driver's wheel, his gaze locked onto the endless twist and turns of the concrete highway.

"Gents," she said, taking a seat between them.

"Ma'am," Amandla said, his eyes still on the map. Viper only nodded, before turning his eyes to the road again.

"I hope you boys aren't too shaken about losing Ranger."

Amandla smiled. "Not when we've gotten him back."  
"Ah, you heard?"  
"Information travels fast in the cell," Amandla said.

The commander shifted in her seat, and decided to keep up the conversation.

"We've got at least three hours to kill up here," she said. "I'll just go over the spiel I do with the rest of the newbies. Where did you lot come from?"

"Johannesburg, South Africa," Amandla said, the words rolling off his mouth.

"Martinique," Viper said. The elegant words sounded harsh and short coming from him.

"Any previous jobs before you joined up here?"

"Private contractor," said Viper.

Amandla mulled over his thoughts for a bit. "Police work, I think. Went on my fair share of operations. That's how I learned to use this." The man patted the large, jet-black sniper rifle that sat to his side.

"Any reason you got mixed up in all this?" the commander asked.

There was a bit of silence from both men. Either they were thinking, or they were scared shitless about their answers.

"Ah, come on," the commander said. "We've all got a goddamn reason for being here. Money, xenophobia, good suits, big guns."

"I was a private contractor," said Viper in a stiff, unyielding voice. He turned back toward the road. The commander guessed he wouldn't be participating in the conversation anymore.

Amandla spoke up. "Xenophobia. Now that reminds me."

"Reminds you of what?"

"You remember what EXALT's aim is. Uplifting the whole of humanity via alien technology."

"Yeah yeah, got that Aryan shit stuffed in my skull."

"But those words, commander," Amandla continued. "EXALT's definition of _humanity_ differs from the definition many other people hold.

"Even when the aliens invaded, humanity still squabbled over that definition. Do you know there are still people who believe in apartheid? Isolated individauls, but individuals nonetheless who think a system that condoned the deaths and dehumanization of thousands, is better than what we have now – because to them, South Africans aren't human." Amandla let out a bitter chuckle. The commander only shifted, a bit uncomfortable. "Even our government is problematic, bowing down to divides made by money instead of race. Sifting the definition of human between the wretched criminals and the wretched poor. Our slogan, _Amandla Awethu_ , my name, meant "power to the people", a promise that even our own people couldn't fulfill.

"EXALT, on the other hand, preaches and enforces its belief to improve all of humanity with guns and tenacity. To them, being human is being able to walk, talk, and know what two plus two means. Now, that is a cause I can get behind."

Pause. "That's… nice," the commander remarked.

Amandla smiled, and scratched the back of his head. "My apologies, commander. I know it was careless of me to rant like that, but you understand where I'm coming from, right?"

"To be honest, Amandla, I have no fucking clue."

Amandla chuckled. "Thank you for being frank Commander, but like you said, you must have your own beliefs to join EXALT."

The commander thought over that. Damn, he was smart. That didn't mean he'd get any more than what she'd given to everyone else.

"I was a damn brash kid back then," she told him. "Wanted to join the military, get in on some action. Fire a gun or two. Thing was, I was too young."

"Of course," Amandla said, still smiling.

"Yeah, pissed me off to no end. 'I could shoot way better than the regular lunks', I kept telling myself. Even tried applying, only to get the boot. Eventually, EXALT came up, gave me a gun, and I went along with it from there."

Amandla shrugged. "I'm in no place to judge, commander," he said. "Your path in life is your own to walk."

The commander snorted. "That's new. Usually it's 'where are your ideals?' or 'is EXALT life as exciting as you thought it was?'"

"We're all different," Amandla said.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Amandla laughed again. "Clearly, Ranger was right about you." He looked back at his map, and then turned to Viper.

"Next exit. We'll go local for now."

* * *

Red groaned as the medic helped prop his back up. His back felt like a bowl of sticky rice, soft and malleable, and his broken arm hurt like hell. The bandages on his chest and forehead were tight, with the white fabric stained a dirty brown from the spilled blood.

"Steady, sir," said the young man, a native of Sweden.

Red barked a curse in Chinese, and managed to prop himself up. The EXALT medic brought a cup of water to Red's lips, a pill already dissolving in the clear liquid. With some effort, Red opened up his mouth, letting the man pour the cup's contents down his mouth.

Goddamn, even swallowing was awful. It was like he had lined his throat with gravel, and then swallowed several chunks of glass. It took all Red had not to throw up as the medicated water went down to his stomach.

The EXALT medic then lowered Red back onto the gurney.

"We're almost to the safe house, sir," the medic said. "We'll –"

"Don't call me 'sir'," Red grunted. "That's for Ranger. And Ranger's coming back."

"Si- Red, the field commander is –"  
"Ranger's coming back," Red said, gritting his teeth as the words crawled out of his throat.

The Swedish medic said nothing, instead turning around to attend to the other wounded. Red looked around again, taking in his surroundings. The whole inside of the mobile home had been emptied out and turned into a moving hospital. At least five other gurneys, with three of them occupied, sat to Red's side. Complicated medical equipment lined the walls, with IV's taped to the floor so that they wouldn't topple over as the mobile home made its way across the German countryside.

Red didn't know how long he'd be out of field duty for. If he could, he would have jumped into the latest operation, if only to break out his commander. Red knew loyalty, built his whole life around it, and the life of his commander was the only thing that mattered beyond his own survival.

Now, Red's injuries only served to push him further into the general's armchair. He couldn't fight, so what else could he do? Lead, that's what.

Red didn't like it. The massive responsibility, the proactivity and planning required. That was the job of triad bosses, of military captains who juggled pleasing the chain of command and keeping the grunts in line. Red was just another grunt, a piece of cannon fodder from one elaborate plan to another. But being a grunt was still far easier than being a leader.

A scream broke his contemplation. Looking to his right, an effort that strained his damaged body even more, Red saw the ugliest casualty writhing in his bed.

The man, whose name Red didn't know, was struggling against the restraints that kept him in his bed. While a number of bandages were wrapped around his limbs and chest, they failed to hide the worst of his injuries.

He was a blackened mess. The parts of his skin that weren't pink and blistered like a wicked array of fleshy sculptures were black, burned to a hardened crisp that allowed pieces of bone to show through. The screaming was worse, though. It wasn't even a scream, really. Screams were full and throaty, a sound that betrayed the healthiness of one's vocal chords. The poor bastard here couldn't even manage that. His voice sounded like a vacuum cleaner being turned on and off again.

"Jesus!" the Swedish medic yelled, running over from the front of the motor home. Sweat gleamed on his forehead as he tried to calm down the burned man. The mobile home went over a bump, causing the medic to stumble. The bed of the burned man slid towards the other end of the mobile home, before bumping into the wall. The man's screams did not abate.

As the Swedish medic reached the burned man, Red saw him take a look at a machine mounted on the wall behind the man. The panicked expression on the medic's face confirmed Red's belief that all was not well.

The machine began to beep, a rising metronome that kept pace with the burned man's whistle-like screaming. The Swedish medic shouted something over to the other compartment of the mobile home. Another man, possibly a medic, came running, stumbling through the door and towards the burned man.

" _Gott im Himmel_ , what is going on here?!" Asclepius shouted. He walked over to the burned man, took one glance, and then looked at the medic.

"We need to stabilize him," Asclepius said. He pointed over to a cabinet. "Grab the kit from there. We need to do this before he goes into shock." The medic nodded, rushing over to the cabinet.

Red continued to watch, silent, and saw Asclepius try to calm the man down. Nothing he did worked, and the man continued to scream and writhe.

"Christ," the medic said, having retrieved the kit, a red box with a needle in it. "I can't get a vein, Dr. Asclepius. He's moving too much!" He tried to grab the man's arm, but it seemed to only increase his agony.

That was when Red decided to speak up.

"Soldier," Red said.

The man's head twisted towards Red, fast as a whip. It was made more disturbing when Red got a full view of his face.

It was skeletal, starved and burnt. It was a corpse that had been half cremated, but had gotten up before the job could reduce it to ash.

Red hesitated, and then mustered up his courage. He'd seen worse.

"Calm down. This man," he said, gesturing with his healthy arm to Asclepius. " _These_ men, are going to help you. You will die if you don't stay still. That is the Commander's order. My order."  
The burned man had calmed considerably, listening to Red's authoritative voice. He wasn't screaming, instead panting, air whistling through his lipless mouth. While his burned body remained still, the Swedish medic began to insert the needle of the kit into the man's arm.

"Stay with me, soldier," Red said. "The Commander is here, so don't you die on me."

Was it a trick of the light, or did Red detect a small nod from the man?

Either way, the situation was defused. The medic declared the man's condition to have "stabilized". Satisfied, Dr. Asclepius retreated back to his den.

Red looked up as the medic began cleaning up his tools and putting the kit back.

"Soldier, what's your name?" he asked him. The medic straightened, and turned to Red.

"My name?" he said, incredulous.

"Yes. Your name."

"Lätt." Red nodded, satisfied. The medic turned away from the Chinese operator, only to turn around and say:

"What do I call you?"

Red hesitated, and then spoke.

"Sir."


	12. Eliminate the Objective

In the next few weeks, Austin spent time becoming acquainted with Japan. The latest cell he had been deployed in was located in an office building in Kyoto, right in the heart of the land of the rising sun. There hadn't been any imminent operations, and Austin didn't see any activity that warranted an operation. Thus, that meant there was a lot of free time in the EXALT cell.

"Enjoying the Japanese nightlife, Commander?" Operator Nzambi asked Austin, leaning against the cobalt counter inside of the club.

"Certainly," Austin said, raising his voice to be heard over the explosive lyrics pounding out of the club's loudspeakers. "It's good to have some R&R." A waiter stopped by their counter, placing two steaming hot bowls of noodles with a precise grace, then moving on to cater to the other patrons.

Nzambi took an experimental sip at his soup, and then jabbed his chopsticks into the broth.

"I'll admit it," the man said. "I had my doubts when they carted you in in that ridiculous orange jumper. Looked absolutely ridiculous."

"Not my best day," Austin agreed.

"But," Nzambi said, chowing down on a few noodles. "You've done wonders for our cell. Getting military and covert ops training for our field operatives, doubling our research speed, and getting rid of my weekly migraines." Nzambi took a sip of water, and dabbed his face with a napkin. "Not an easy feat, you know."

"'Course," Austin said, contemplating his next words. He ate some of his food, and then decided to go ahead with it anyway.

"Couldn't have gotten anywhere without Red," he said.

"Ah, your _aide de camp_?" Nzambi said. "The Chinese mobster?"

"Yeah…"  
"Well, tell him I said thanks as well. Between you and me, you two have done far more work for our cause than those prudish peacocks in the Cortex have ever done."

Austin shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't one to talk down to his superiors.

"We all have our different talents," he said, using a weak, resistant tone.

"Well, yours ought to be competence," Nzambi said. "And no, I'm not worried. I've been speaking my mind for years, and EXALT still keeps me around."

He lifted his glass.

"To EXALT," he said.

"To –" Austin repeated, before being interrupted by a buzzing sensation on his thigh. Apologising, he picked up his phone, and walked over to a much quieter section of the club.

"Hello?" Austin said, pressing the receiver against his ear.

"There's been a leak," said a raspy voice.

"Red?" Austin recognized the Hong Kong accent at the other end of the phone.

"No time. Report back to base," the Chinese operator said before hanging up.

Austin pocketed his phone, and pushed his way past the club's patrons before meeting up with Nzambi at the counter.

"Anything important?" the man said, looking up at Austin.

"Pay the bills, Nzambi. Three weeks of R&R are over."

* * *

By 7:00 AM, a black, unmarked chopper took off from Japan's coast, flying over the Yellow sea towards rural northern China. It moved faster than any other human craft of its kind, and was able to reach its destination in an hour or so.

Within the helicopter, Commander Austin Brown looked around at the strike team arrayed in front of him. Fourteen operatives looked back, eyes open with unwavering focus.

Austin began his briefing. "The target is Hongou Marazuki," he said, producing a photo of a middle-aged Chinese man in a white coat. "He's one of our contacts who's been helping us research alien tech. Or, at least he was.

"Last night, we received a call from Marazuki to an unknown person. A bit of tinkering and we soon discovered that he was brokering for asylum with XCOM in exchange for information on alien tech. So, our main objective is to abduct Dr. Marazuki, wring him for whatever information he's got left, and eliminate him. I'll let Operator Claymore continue with the briefing."

Austin sat down, and watched Operator Claymore take the spotlight. She was the largest member of the EXALT squad, and a monster of a woman, packing on more muscle than anyone else in the cell. Likely the reason why she was one of EXALT's best heavy weapons operators.

"The target is located in an observatory in rural China, bordering Manchuria," Claymore said, professional and brisk in her speech. "There is no security, and the staff is minimal. We go in, get the objective, and get out. Understood?"

As one, the EXALT troops nodded.

"There is the possibility of an XCOM strike force coming to retrieve the Dr.," Claymore continued. "In that case, remember your training. If we cannot extract the objective, every operative is authorized to do everything in their power to make sure XCOM cannot do so either. Understood?"

The nodding was there, but less eager.

"Attention, Valkyrie team," said the pilot over the intercom. "We have reached our destination. Prepare to enter the AO."

"That's our call," Austin said. "Let's go!"

The doors on the helicopter's sides slid open, allowing the EXALT squad to spill out into the foggy morning air. Dress shoes sank into the moist earth as the troops unloaded their weaponry and dashed towards the observatory.

One of the snipers rushed ahead and opened the chain link gate ahead of them. Slowly, he pushed the rusted metal out of the way, allowing the rest of the squad to move unimpeded.

"To the top," murmured Lovecraft, the EXALT who had opened the chain link fence. He and another EXALT operative separated from the main group, climbing up onto the roof of a nearby building. The rest of the squad, still maintaining silence as the morning fog rolled through the observatory grounds, took positions around the tallest building. A few slid into a computer lab facing opposite of the building, while the rest took cover around the pallet crates and vehicles that dotted the landscape.

"Lovecraft, what do you see?" Austin said, breaking radio silence.

The sniper, lying prone on the cold, concrete roof, looked through his scope at the dark windows of the target building.

"Nothin'", he said. "Wait –"

Movement flashed in the corner of Lovecraft's eye.

"Wait!" he hissed, shifting his position so that his scope landed on the backside of the building. As he watched, a door was softly pushed open. Out of it came five XCOM operatives, wearing yellow armor. Then, like a mouse scurrying from its hole, was the good doctor, a small Chinese man in a white coat.

"I have the objective in sight," Lovecraft said. "He's comin' out the back, along with five XCOM soldiers."

"Got it," Austin said. He switched channels on his communicator.

"Everyone maintain concealment. Fire on my command."

"Roger."

"Yessir."

"Crystal."

The variety of affirmatives stung in Austin's ears. It only reminded him that he was commanding a ragtag mix of varying skills. That could wind up getting them all killed.

Austin steadied his G36 rifle, and aimed it at the observatory building. Sure enough, the XCOM operatives came creeping along the staircase to his left. It helped that they were wearing such bright, obvious armor. It lifted Austin's spirits, thinking that he was dealing with a squad of rookies rather than… whatever it was he had faced before.

Lovecraft, meanwhile, had his scope steadied on the broad at the lead. She was a right nasty bit of work, he saw as he studied her in his scope. Imposing height, lithe muscles, and a rocket launcher give off that kind of impression. He aimed past the shiny metal bits on her armor, and tried to find an exposed piece of skin. There, just above her neck – a little crack. Steady, and –

Lovecraft suddenly became aware of a presence next to him. He turned his head, ever so slightly, so his aim wouldn't be knocked off course.

Staring at him back was a man in a suit.

In an almost comical motion, it put a slim finger to its lips.

Lovecraft nodded.

The… thing, stood, and produced a large, silver gun, with green light protruding from it. Then, striking an elegant pose reminiscent of a James Bond movie, it opened fire.

* * *

Cpt. Lena "Fahrenheit" Faust jerked back as a scream sounded within her squad. She looked just to see Cpl. Shoshan's head explode, bits of flesh laced with glittering, green plasma. The decapitated Grenadier's body toppled to the dirt floor, blood spreading from areas where the plasma hadn't cauterized the wounds.

"Take cover!" shouted Faust, laying down suppressive fire with her beam carbine. The rest of Squad Gold scattered, taking cover wherever they could.

Gunfire spat from several different places at once, bullets riddling the brick walls of the observatory buildings. Faust crouched behind a stack of crates, still firing at random at the X-rays. Behind her, Tsgt. Matilda "Four-Eyes" Fournier moved up next to her, swapping the spent heat generator in her beam rifle.

" _Sacré blue!_ The Council didn't say anything about EXALT being in the area!" cried the Medic.

"Well, they're here, Four-Eyes," Faust replied. "Have the others move back and secure the doc."

"Yes, _Capitaine_ ," Fournier said, retreating backward.

Faust raised her beam carbine again, this time scoring a hit on an EXALT operative who was trying to charge her position. The man hit the ground, and then rolled behind an abandoned truck that sat in the middle of the facility.

"Cpt. Fahrenheit!" buzzed another of Squad Gold over the XCOM comm.

"Report?"

"X-Ray is building up, at 11 o'clock, your position. Looks like they're trying to charge us." Faust grinned as she heard the report.

"Roger. Fahrenheit out," she said. Wasting no time, Faust ripped the large tube from her back. A few taps, and the innocent looking object turned into a sleek rocket launcher.

 _Moments like these make me believe in God_ , Faust reflected as she slammed a rocket into the hungry maw of her launcher. She then steadied the tube on her shoulder, stood up, and fired, directly into the building opposite of her.

One fiery ball of death later, Faust was rewarded by the corpses of five EXALT operatives, bodies flying into the air as their torn waistcoats flapped from the shockwave. A second explosion, this one a firework display of green and purple, made Faust grin even more. One of EXALT's thin butt buddies had been in that pack, and now its death had turned it into a makeshift chem grenade.

Suddenly, Faust felt like throwing up. She collapsed, launcher rolling at her side.

"Jesus," she moaned, trying to lift herself up again. Had she actually fainted from firing a rocket? Was it the recoil that got her? She'd fired the thing dozens of times, and there hadn't been a single problem.

She felt her strength dribbling away, like someone just punctured her and hooked her up to a liposuction machine. With a shaking hand, she felt her stomach, where she thought the puncture might be.

Her glove slipped. Carapace armor wasn't slippery, was it?

"Ah," she muttered, unable to speak coherently.

"Fahrenheit?" said a worried voice on her comm. It was one of her girls, Faust thought. But which one she didn't know. Just like the other one, the one who had died. What was her name?

"Cpt. Faust, do you read me?" said another voice, deeper and more masculine. "This is Central. What is your status?"

Jesus, the man was demanding. Just like her ex-husband. All the more reason she dropped the son of a bitch when she had the chance. Frankly, wasn't he also the reason she was leading an all-female squad in the first place?

The thoughts buzzed in Faust's head, with her mind chasing each one down, following it and ignoring the outside. Then, the thoughts stopped buzzing, and without something to distract it, Faust's mind stopped as well.

* * *

"Captain down! CAPTAIN DOWN!" screamed a member of Squad Gold, who was watching the windows.

As the words went through Fournier's mind, she found herself mouthing the word "no", her mind numb. Her beam rifle fell out of her hands.

"E-evac! We need emergency evac!" said another member of Squad Gold. Losing Fahrenheit had been devastating, and now it was taking its toll.

"Calm down!" bellowed Sgt. Mona "Dozer" Jensen. The Gunner crouched near the doorway of the facility, taking potshots at the EXALT outside. "We still have a mission to do. I won't have Faust be dyin' for nothin' you hear me?!"

Fournier stood, rushing over toward the besieged position. Jensen's belligerent outburst had roused her for the moment.

"Ah, Four Eyes.," said Jensen. "What're our options? We lost our Grenadier and Rocketeer, and the sun ain't even up yet."

"Can Slender get a bead on the number of hostiles?" Fournier said.

"Already done," Jensen replied. "Slender's been keeping the thin mints from spraying their shit at us. There's at least five TM's, and ten E's left."

"All entrenched, _oui_?"

"Obviously." Jensen gritted her teeth again and fired her beam SAW. The beam-powered heavy weapon sent rays of red light across the ground, leaving scorch marks on a doorway on the other side.

Fournier hunkered down into her own cover, and pressed a hand to her communicator.

"Central, this is Gold-2. We've lost our ordinance. Are there any options available?"

Back at XCOM Europe, Central Officer Bradford glanced at the readout from the main terminal. Data from the eight members of Gold Squad showed up, displaying their equipment, mental state, and vitals. Currently, two of them were flat lining.

Bradford turned to Maj. Pettachi, who stood next to him.

"Gold-2," Pettachi said. "Gold-3 and Gold-7 each have a single HE grenade on them. Do you still have smoke available?"

"Affirmative," came the reply. "Two canisters of smoke left."

"Have Gold-3, Gold-5, and Gold-7 head to that truck between the computer lab and your position. Once they're in position, throw down smoke and have Gold-3 and Gold-7 toss their ordnance at the lab. Gold-5 will then use the smoke to take out the X-ray position in the lab. You copy?"

"I copy, Central," said Fournier.

"Make sure the rest of the squad lays down covering fire, Gold-2."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Fournier lobbed her last canister of smoke at the truck, watching a second cloud of pink burst onto the battlefield. Then, under the smoke's cover, the three members of Squad Gold crawled through gunfire and plasma.

Fournier couldn't see them for a second, and she braced herself for the worst. When she saw three silhouettes signaling back at her in the next second, she relaxed, the beating of her heart calming down by a bit. She wasn't in the mood to lose anyone else.

"Tsgt., Walker here. Ready to move on your order."

"Roger, Sgt. Walker," Fournier replied. "Cpl. Disco, Cpl. Orange, you are go on grenades."

A few moments later, two explosions ripped from the computer lab, breaking whatever windows were still intact and spraying pieces of brick across the dirt road.

"Walker, you are go! Hit and Run!"

Fournier, still watching, saw Squad Gold's Assault trooper run, yellow armor blazing in her headlong charge towards the EXALT position. She saw Walker discharge several shots into EXALT operatives before they could even register her presence, her scatter laser spewing red into the entire room. The lab lit up like a club, intermittent shafts of red piercing the surroundings.

After the shooting had stopped, Walker reported back in.

"Tsgt., this is Walker. Put the body count at 7 dead E's."

"Got it, Sgt. Hunker down and wait for us to end the others."

* * *

Austin watched in disbelief as he heard Lovecraft tally the losses from the computer lab. The operative names and KIA counts stacked up in his ears, the sounds running through his head but being left unregistered by his mind.

 _All because of one soldier_ , Austin thought. Fucking impossible. By all rights, a headlong charge like that should at least guarantee the death of the XCOM trooper sent to do it. But instead, the trooper had obliterated the small squad of EXALTs, dodged sniper fire, and gotten out with barely a scratch.

Impossible.

Austin had half a mind to call out "bullshit", like a little kid who was getting his ass handed to him at a game of tag. Of course, his professional self pushed it back. All's fair in love and war, and shit like that. Still, that indignant bit of him lay, smoldering.

He couldn't win this with brute force alone. Even with the unexpected alien support, which Austin still couldn't figure out, and the element of surprise, the XCOM soldiers had enough expertise to remove themselves from danger. Then, Claymore's words danced through his mind.

 _If we cannot extract the objective, every operative is authorized to do everything in their power to make sure XCOM cannot do so either. Understood?_

Yes, that was the ticket. He couldn't win, but he could make sure his enemy didn't either.

"Lovecraft?" he said, opening up a channel with the sniper.

"Still alive, boss," the sniper replied. "Whatcha want?"

"Steady aim, and make yourself scarce. Wait for my signal."

* * *

"I think we got them all," said Sgt. Denise "Slender" Monet to Fournier. "Field is clear. No sign of X-ray or E activity."

"Roger, Sgt.," said Fournier. She lowered her fingers from her earpiece, and risked a glance outside as well.

After another assault that cleared out the rest of the thin men, the gunfire had stopped. Some semblance of peace was coming back to this section of rural China. If Squad Gold had been using ballistics, Fournier imagined that the black smoke from their gun barrels would be wafting through the observatory grounds, curling around the broken buildings and the crumpled bodies.

"Seems clear," said Sgt. Jensen. "Should go. The xenos might send friends in soon."

"It seems so, _no_?" said Fournier. "Keep watch. I'm going to have a talk with our VIP."

Fournier walked away from the observatory windows, and confronted the diminutive Chinese man who was curled up behind the observatories massive telescope.

"Dr. Hongou Marazuki?"

The man looked up. Fournier could see he was hyperventilating.

"Is it… Is it over?" Marazuki asked. His cultured tone was lit with something bordering on desperation.

"Perhaps," said Fournier. "But before we move, Doctor, I have questions. Why was an EXALT strike team on our position?"

"W-who? I have no idea –"  
" _Merde!_ EXALT! You know them. Otherwise, why would they be here after _you_?"

Marazuki was silent. Earlier, before the fighting, the man had been eager to share his findings on alien tech, on the possibility of utilizing faster than light technology based on the findings from alien UFOs. Fournier moved closer, looming over him.

"Doctor, I need answers. Two of our own just died defending you, you can at least give me this much!"

Marazuki's face crumpled, and he took a deep breath.

"I had ties to this… EXALT group you talk about. They told me they were interested in my findings, told me they were an independent research group who wanted to find a way to utilize alien technology to the benefit of mankind. I… I gave them everything I knew."

Fournier stared, shocked. "Why?" came the whisper.

Marazuki gulped, before continuing. "No one else here believed my findings. Thought I was a – a delusional idiot tinkering with some hoax. Half of the staff at the university wanted to kick me off the research division. I just… I just needed –"

"Validation," Fournier said. Then, without thinking, she continued: "Well, now two of Earth's finest are dead because of you. I hope for your sake and mine you got what you wanted."

Fournier walked away, motioning for another member of Squad Gold to escort the doctor to the Skyranger. She had no sympathy for the man, none whatsoever. Part of her regretted that Faust and Shoshan had died to save his pathetic, cowardly ass. Another part of her, a small part, hoped he'd find some way to bite a bullet before they got in the Skyranger.

* * *

"Ranger, I have the target in sight."

"Roger, Lovecraft. Once you have neutralized the objective, make your way into the outskirts. Do NOT engage the XCOM forces, I repeat, do NOT engage the XCOM forces. Do you copy?"

"I copy, Ranger. Waiting on your order."

Lovecraft cut off his own communication. He'd only need his ears and his fingers for this next bit.

He centered the cross hairs of his scope on the center of the man's white coat. A bullet there might lodge in a lung, or maybe his heart. Not enough to kill him instantly, but enough to leave him to bleed out.

"Do you have a shot?" Austin said.

"Yessir," Lovecraft murmured, his eyes staring at the target. In the back of his head, there was excitement. Controlling a life like this, with the simple tug of his finger. He felt like one of his namesake's dark, eldritch creations, unknowable and unseen, lurking behind the shadows and ready to snuff out life in an instant. In his last moments, he realized that his choice of nickname had not just been personal preference.

"Take it."


End file.
